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The kosk colokkd i.UiHr was dim, hut tdeke was knouUjH to knahte 

■ i’HKM TO SEE THE FIGUHK OF A MAN KNHKI.ING BY THE COUCH HIS ARMS 
I’HROWN 0\'EK I'HE BODY, HIS HEAD KESllNGON THE riTBOW r.ESIDE 'I'HE 
TACK. 

Frontis, Paying the PiperP 



r 

PAYING THE PIPER 


BY 

MARGRET HOLMES BATES 

I’i 

Author of 

*‘Manitou” “The Chamber Over the Gate’* “The 
Price of the Ring,” “Shylock’s Daughter,” 
“Jasper Fairfax,” “In the First Degree,” 

“Silas Kirk end own’s Sons,” Short 
Stories, Poems, Business 
Articles, &c., &c. 



“Each creature puts forth from itself its own 
condition and sphere.” — Emerson. 


BROADWAY PUBLISHING CO. 

Home Office: 835 Broadway, New York 

BRANCHES: CHICAGO, NORFOLK. BALTIMORE. 
ATLANTA, . WASHINGTON. FLORENCE, ALA. 

1910 




\ 


Copyright, 1910, 

By 

MARGRET HOLMES BATES. 



i 


Paying the Piper 


CHAPTER I 

Mrs. Van/ioren h^d the reputation of being 
a woman of perfect manner; perfect com- 
posure. Her family never saw her flustered 
no ’lurried. She was never ill-tempered, 
nevti scolded. Her sons and her daughters, 
as tiiey grew into man and womanhood, knew, 
because being well acquainted when she dis- 
approved; knew by her silence if speech was 
needless, or, if pressed ' explain her atti- 
tude, by a plain moderate statement. 

Her church friends might become excited, 
worried or fretted about the atfairs of the 
parish; Mrs. Vandoren, after hearing all sides 
of a question to be considered, might agree that 
the situation was serious, or complicated or 
embarrassing; never hopeless; never anything 
to be excited or heated over. 

In the few clubs to which she had subscribed 
she had the same general reputation. There 
might be factional fights, secessions, breakings 
of years of friendship, and over it all intem- 
3 


4 


PAYING THE PIPER 


perate language; unseemly behavior, hysteria, 
bickerings and dissemination of scandals. Mrs. 
Vandoren had been known to grow ill and 
faint; physically, in the tumult, but, she was 
never tumultuous herself. Her opinions were 
clear, simple and sound. Her mentality might 
be so wrought upon by unpleasant discussion 
that she was fairly ill but, she was still the 
cool, quiet, equably-poised member. 

Her faithful Swedish cook expressed her 
opinion by saying; ‘‘Mrs. Van she never get 
angry, she never make fuss, she never boil 
over,’’ and her Danish butler agreed; “Yes, 
dot is so Christine, Mrs. Van, very fine.” Her 
youngest son. Max, a boy of sixteen, declared 
“Cannons couldn’t stampede mother.” The 
young daughter, Katherine, often wondered if 
any conceivable occasion could arise to which 
her mother would not be superior, would not 
rise one step, or perhaps a whole flight of 
stairs higher. The married daughter. Flora 
Latham, very early served notice upon her hus- 
band that to disapprove of mother in any least 
particular was the unpardonable sin in the 
Vandoren family. This daughter’s husband 
had been heard to say very seriously; “To 
be deaf and dumb and blind is generally con- 
sidered a great misfortune, but my mother-in- 
law can make believe that she’s destitute of all 
these senses, and feel all the better for it. 
It’s a great talent, to be able to cut out hear- 
ing, sight and speech at one fell swoop, and 
yet be happy. I tell you she’s a wonderful 
woman — my wife’s mother.” 


PAYING THE PIPER 


5 


What the older son, the oldest of the family 
thought, was conveyed in his weekly letters 
from the Pacific Coast, where he had been for 
the last six years. And now he was expected 
home very soon. It was five years since he 
had last said good-bye to New York, and with 
his bride had travelled away to the West 
where the snn goes down. His mother-in-law, 
Mrs. Seldon, had come with her daughter, 
Barbara, to talk over the home-coming with 
the mother-in-law of her daughter Genevieve. 

The casual observer would not have seen 
anything in Mrs. Vandoren^s manner but the 
utmost suavity, the most charming cordiality 
towards the heavy, florid, rather over-dressed, 
middle-aged, but quite good-looking Mrs. Sel- 
don, and her plain quiet, if not stupid daugh- 
ter. The casual observer rarely penetrates be- 
yond the most obvious surface of happenings. 
Katherine and her brother, sitting together on 
a window seat, knew that as usual, Mrs. Seldon 
was putting a severe test on their mother’s en- 
durance. 

know of course,” Mrs. Seldon was say- 
ing, ^Hhat the one we most long to see is little 
Annetje. I’m so glad that Genevieve named 
her for our ancestress. It’s another protest 
against the injustice of the Trinity Corpora- 
tion in keeping us out of our own.” 

Mrs. Vandoren smiled and murmured Yes,” 
with a rising inflection, and Max pinched his 
sister’s little finger. Mrs. Vandoren con- 
tinued: ‘‘Yes, the baby will certainly be an 
interesting study for us all. It seems from her 


PAYING THE PIPEE 


. 6 

pictures that Genevieve has sent that there is 
not much resemblance to either father or 
mother. ’ ’ 

‘^No, I think perhaps the child harks back 
to some of our early ancestors who came here 
long ago, from Holland. You see, as IVe said 
before, up to my marriage with Mr. Seldon, 
our family was purely Dutch. YouVe no 
doubt noticed of what a good type of Dutch 
face and figure my nephew Dirck Johnson 

Mrs. Vandoren nodded assent, she had no 
time for reply. Barbara Seldon fidgetting im- 
patiently said snappishly: ‘‘Please, mother, 
donT bring in Cousin Dirck as a sample of 
the family characteristics. It’s bad enough 
that we must own him, without parading him.” 

“I mean simply his personnel; and I’m sure 
that Dirck, as an infant was as bright as any 
child I ever saw, and everybody knows that 
the spinal fever that carried otf his father and 
mother and very nearly killed him was what 
ruined his intellect. I’m sorry you’re not kind 
to him as Genevieve always was. He’s always 
so gentle and affectionate.” 

‘ ‘ Oh, I know Genevieve was kind to him, and 
now he’s sillier than ever with the expecta- 
tion of seeing her. I’m sorry that the little 
girl looks so much like Dirck. She’s as ugly 
as a pig.” 

‘ ‘ Oh, Barbara ! ’ ’ Katherine exclaimed, laugh- 
ing: “I’m sure there’s nothing prettier than 
a nice little invisible-pink pig. Of course, our 
small niece might be prettier if she looked like 


PAYING THE PIPER 7 

you,’’ with a bow, ^^or me. But still, we 
must’nt forget that she’s one of the family.” 

‘‘Never mind, girls, it won’t matter if little 
Annetje is ever so homely; Mr. Seldon is 
quite certain now that he can force a settle- 
ment with Trinity— the Corporation will pay 
handsomely to avoid a scandal I’m sure, and 
then your little niece will be one of the wealth- 
iest heiresses in America— really in th^ whole 
world. ’ ’ 

“Won’t that be fine!” Max exclaimed, “Then 
when I sell my castle in Spain ” 

“In Spain!” Barbara interrupted, “I 
thought your mother’s folks were German and 
your father’s Dutch.” 

“Right you are, but, you see I have this 
Spanish property in my own right — by right 
of discovery.” 

Barbara bridled. She half suspected Max 
was laughing at the family pretensions. Mrs. 
Vandoren smiled and remonstrated. “Max, 
dear,” and he, boy fashion, continued: “I 
have also a few desirable corner lots all ready 
for any kind of buildings I care to erect on 
them. These are principally in the air. ’ ’ 

“Max! Max!” and his mother shook her 
head seriously, “It’s a well known fact, that 
our family has no inheritance in prospect. 
We’ve always worked, each generation for 
itself.” 

“Listen, mother, are you going to fool us as 
Grand-dad Wallberg did his children? Never 
let us know how fine we are till we find it out 
by accident? Why, I’d rather know that there 


8 


PAYING THE PIPEE 

was a real ghost in the family for two hundred 
years, than own the whole of old Trinity. 
Sure, mother, you have^nt something more 
that’s fine?” 

‘‘Very sure. I’ve concealed nothing from 
you, I couldn’t very well with Aunt Dempsey 
in the house.” 

“Ah, yes,” Mrs. Seldon exclaimed, “Mrs. 
Starr’s a wonderful woman, but, really, don’t 
you think her memory’s becoming just a bit 
unreliable ? ’ ’ 

“Perhaps in happenings of recent date, but 
about the events of her early life, I am sure 
her mind is very clear, her memory is rarely 
at fault. From what I know of the history of 
my grand-father’s family, I am sure she makes 
no mistakes.” 

“But how could she have so full a knowl- 
edge of the family ; the marriages and the balls 
and all?” 

“She was an orphan, and my great-grand- 
father, Wallberg, was her guardian. She lived 
in the house as one of the family.” 

“Did she tell you of the family ghost. Max?” 

“No, that was talked of amongst us cousins 
when mother and I visited at Grand-dad’s sev- 
eral years ago.” 

“I wish you’d tell me about it,” Barbara 
said. 

“I will sometime, it’s a bully good story.” 

“Well of course, mother,” Katherine said, 
“Aunt Dempsey is as sweet as she can be, but 
I wish she wouldn’t insist that I look like the 
first Katherine there was in the family who. 


PAYING THE PIPER 


9 


she says was known as Dutch Kate Keifer. 
IsnT it an ugly name, said that way, Bar- 
bara T’ 

‘‘Why, of course, if it was called English 
Katherine perhaps the sound would be better. 
I’m glad that diminutives and nick-names are 
being laid aside. I couldn’t bear to be called 
Bab.” 

“No, I wouldn’t like that; but didn’t Gen- 
evieve like, some time ago, to be called Genie ? ’ ’ 

“Yes, so foolish of her, too,” Mrs. Seldon 
said with a sniff; “and very likely she calls 
her baby Nannie.” 

“Now, Mrs. Selden,” from Max, “what 
about those old Dutch burghers and padrones 
and things? You see, there were no staying 
qualities in their names. Your father’s name 
was Johnson, but very likely he had the last 
syllable, or his father had it because he was 
the son of John; but who was the father of the 
first John?” 

Mrs. Seldon interrupted hastily and sharply : 
“That’s only an old story, made up by people 
who want to make money by writing history, 
and who know nothing about it. My family 
traces its origin straight back to Roeloff Jan- 
sen, and his wife Annetje. We are the des- 
cendants of one of their four children. Of 
course, Jansen came to be Johnson when New 
Amsterdam was taken over by the grasping 
English, because they didn’t know the differ- 
ence between broad ‘a’ and short ‘o’; but, my 
son and my brother are known as Jansen or 
Jan.” 


10 


PAYING THE PIPER 


Katherine remarked very soberly: 
not the name, but the person bearing it, that 
counts.’’ 

^‘Yes, little sister, s’pose that’s what great- 
grand-dad Wallberg thought when he married 
Dutch Kate for her money.” 

Mrs. Seldon smiled indulgently. ‘‘Seems to 
me. Max, if I were you, I wouldn’t mention 
it if any relation of mine had ever married for 
money. ’ ’ 

“No? What about little Annetje being so 
very wealthy when Trinity Corporation pays 
back rent? Won’t make any difference if she’s 
ugly as a hippopotamus, some out-at-elbows 
fellow’ll be glad to take her off Phil’s hands 
for the sake of her shekels — no, she’ll have 
guelders, that’s the Dutch of it. Seems to me 
I’d rather be the biter than the bitten.” 

Mrs. Seldon ’s little dark eyes snapped, and 
her red face put on an additional shade of 
crimson; but, she turned to her daughter, say- 
ing: “We must be going, Barbara,” then to 
her hostess: “I suppose we’ll feel like divid- 
ing up, this young family of ours for a few 
days at least. No doubt you’ll want Philip to 
remain with you until their new house is ready 
for them, and Genevieve, with the baby — you 
know how I feel, having a married daughter 
of your own.” 

“Oh, yes, certainly — unless Philip and Gen- 
evieve prefer to be inseparable,” Mrs. Van- 
doren answered. 

Then the women made their slow progress 
to the street door. Barbara was thin to angul- 


PAYING THE PIPER 


11 


arity and gave no promise, from her lack of 
resemblance to her mother, of stoutness in the 
future. Max held the hall door open, and, with 
many parting words, the visitors at last found 
themselves in their old-fashioned carriage, and 
jogging down the Drive. 


CHAPTER II 


must give one a sensation of largeness,” 
Katherine remarked when the three were 
alone, ^‘to have such a long line of irreproach- 
able ancestors; and to be oppressed, and in a 
way over-reached by a thing as powerful and 
ancient as Trinity Corporation, is enough to 
make one feel one’s self very much distin- 
guished. To be taxed for road making and 
other city improvements by these every-day 
aldermen is simply an imposition, and a taking 
of one’s unwilling money in that way is like 
having one’s pocket picked or hand-bag robbed 
by a shop-lifter. But to know that one’s mil- 
lions are tied up and held for a hundred years 
or two by Trinity: — well, it’s different.” 

‘‘Now, I suppose that’s what gives Mrs. 
Seldon her air of bottled-up greatness when 
she’s amongst other women, or when she goes 
to church late and her pew is filled. She’ll 
take a back seat, or any old place, and every 
rustle of her stiff petticoat whispers: “It’s I, 
Elizabeth Johnson, Seldon. I used to be Jan- 
sen — doesn’t matter where I’m bestowed. I’m 
It anyway.” Then, striking an attitude, 
“Why in these modern days, to be a Johnson, 
12 


PAYING THE PIPER 13 

and a clieated heir of Trinity, is greater than 
president of a base ball club.’’ 

^‘Max! how you do run on,’’ bis mother said 
half laughing, half seriously, ‘‘You must learn 
to be a bit careful after Philip comes. You’re 
so in the habit of ridiculing the Seldon family, 
I’m afraid you’ll make trouble.” 

“Oh, I’ll be mum before Phil, but I hope 
he hasn’t married the whole family.” 

“No, he hasn’t,” Katherine said, positively, 
“but, as I remember, and taking Genevieve’s 
picture as corroborative evidence, he has cor- 
nered a large majority of the good looks of 
the Seldon house.” 

“Which are you going to turn to, Kate 
Keifer, Wall Street, Chancery Lane, or Tam- 
any Hall?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“You talk of ‘corroborative evidence,’ ‘cor- 
nering’ and ‘large majorities’ all in one sen- 
tence. Now you know Mater is a fine business 
woman, and so will you be, if you’ll concen- 
trate. But, scattering one’s abilities is a waste 
of the raw material. There aren’t many three- 
ply geniuses.” 

“Oh, Maxy, stop watching straws to see the 
direction of the wind. It isn’t necessary, here, 
facing this great melancholy Hudson and the 
cliffs of Jersey.” 

“Do you think we’ll ever see a breeze blow- 
ing straws from Old Trinity in favor of our 
sister-in-law?” 

Katherine’s “No,” was very emphatic, and 
the downward curve of the corners of her 


14 


PAYING THE PIPER 


mouth meant withering contempt, and her 
mother quiet smile, as she gazed out on the 
river meant only indifference/’ 

^‘I don’t believe,” Max continued, backing 
the mantel tree, with his feet wide apart, ‘Hhat 
I’d swap my sure- thing inheritance now in the 
hands of my very wise mother, for Jan. Sel- 
don’s millions held by Trinity Corporation. 
Would you, Kitty Clover?” 

^‘You’re speaking of myths as far as Jan- 
sen’s millions are to be considered; but this 
long rocky river side, that our grandfather 
had, as he thought, the misfortune to secure, 
is a very solid and profitable fact. Don’t you 
think so, mother?” 

‘‘Yes, we’ve found it very satisfactory.” 

Very satisfactory, truly was this inheritance 
enjoyed by the heirs of the man who, sixty 
years before, was rated a most unfortunate 
I bondsman. Philip Vandoren the second, father 
of the man who was expected home from the 
Pacific Coast within a few days, had inherited 
a long stretch of many acres of what was for 
years an unproductive part of Manhattan Is- 
land. The first Philip had taken these rough, 
stony acres as a forlorn hope in return for the 
payment of a security debt that had well-nigh 
beggared him. There it lay, a shabby house 
at long intervals, tenanted by people who made 
straggling gardens where the soil was deep 
enough, planted a few fruit trees, and raised 
inferior chickens and children. While the city 
lay far down towards the Bay and the north 
end of Manhattan was a wild with here and 


PAYIN& THE PIPER 15: 

there a> tenth-rate farm, the Vandorens were 
poor, without expectations. 

The first Vandoren who owned this unprofit- 
able land, had economized by building a house 
for his family of the rough stone, and of the 
land from which the stone was gathered, he 
made a farm. Here the family lived, and from 
the rough stone house the sons and daughters 
were married, and went their ways where better 
fortunes beckoned. Two sons went South, dur- 
ing the civil war, and never returned. Two 
daughters married, went West, and died child- 
less. By and by there were none left to inherit 
but the second Philip and his sister, Eunice 
Ransom. A settlement was made, and the 
Ransoms received as a part of their share of 
the estate, the old home house, where, after 
many remodellings and additions, they still 
lived, a few blocks north of the Vandoren 
place. The Ransoms were a staid, elderly pair, 
with a middle-aged daughter, who seemed more 
elderly than her parents. 

Philip Vandoren, the second, leaving school 
when the merest boy, went into the business 
house of a friend of his father, as he said, to 
learn importing and exporting. His choice 
proved a wise one and the intricacies of busi- 
ness were to him but a most fascinating game. 
Added to this, the steady growth of the city 
brought his rocky acres into the market, and 
before he had but barely passed his thirtieth 
birth-day, he had established the house of Van- 
doren, Finley and Rogers. On a trip to the 
Middle West, to establish a branch business 


16 


PAYING THE PIPER 


for their imports, he met and married Melli- 
cent Wallberg. Then he built the house over- 
looking the river with its spacious rooms, wide 
halls, and surrounding verandas. The Wall- 
bergs were Maryland people, and they had car- 
ried the southern ideas of house building with 
them into the West. This house, overlooking 
the Hudson had been planned by Mellicent 
while she sat with Philip Vandoren on her 
father’s wide piazza in the shade of the oak 
trees that gave the farm its romantic name of 
Oakwood. Here, in the house they had 
planned together, Philip and Mellicent had 
passed their honeymoon; here their children 
were born, and here, ten years ago, the kindly 
companionable, enterprising head of the firm 
that had grown wealthy, was brought home 
dead, killed in a collision between his own car- 
riage and a trolley car. For several years his 
will had been in the hands of John Trent, his 
friend from boyhood, and legal adviser of the 
firm. His real estate, mercantile and personal 
property was left to his wife with no least res- 
ervation. She was to divide it how and when 
she saw fit amongst their four children. 

The third Philip was but twenty at the time 
of his father’s death. The two girls were 
younger, and Max but a child of six. Melli- 
cent Vandoren had retained her interest in the 
mercantile house, and had followed her hus- 
band’s plans of building houses and selling 
them, or selling liberal portions of land to 
those who wished to build for themselves. 

One of the latest purchasers was Oscar Ru- 


PAYING THE PIPER 17 

dolph. His house was but recently finished and 
furnished and was awaiting the coming of the 
wife, son and daughter from Europe. The Ru- 
dolph house was but a short block away from 
Mrs. Vandoren’s and the general opinion was, 
that if the other members of the family proved 
as agreeable as the one already met, they would 
be exceedingly pleasant neighbors. 

A few blocks beyond the Rudolph place, was 
the picturesque new house that awaited Philip 
Vandoren^s family. It was all ready for the 
furnishings. Mrs. Vandoren had consulted 
Flora Latham, her daughter, and Mrs. Seldon, 
and together they had decided that Genevieve 
would like to select her own furniture. Then, 
too, they could not tell how many rare and 
beautiful things she would bring with her from 
California. She had had plans of her new 
house for months, so she might bring many 
rugs and draperies from San Francisco ^s ori- 
ental neighbors. 


CHAPTER III 


Katherine and Max had wandered into the 
music room, and were playing a duet, and Mrs. 
Vandoren sat gazing out upon the river. Such 
an old friend was the river. It had been con- 
stant and responsive to her varying moods for 
all these more than thirty years. With such 
happy, hopeful eyes, she had greeted it, with 
her husband beside her, on that first evening 
when they arrived from the West. Never 
would she forget the beauty of the sunset as 
seen from her windows. The river was beau- 
tiful, too, reflecting the blue and gold, the 
amethyst and crimson of sun, and clouds and 
sky. 

In her anxious hours of watching beside her 
little ones in their childish illnesses, there was 
always the constant river rolling on, inexhaus- 
tible, though always pouring itself into the sea. 
Once when she had said something of this kind 
to her husband he had taken her into his arms, 
saying: ^‘The great river is like my constant, 
western breeze of a wife. She continually 
pours out the goodness of her heart for me 
and for our little ones, and yet, each call we 
make upon her we receive more, and always 
more.^^ 


18 


19 


PAYING THE PIPER 

When her dark hours came, and she sat in 
dumb sorrow in the gloom of her sudden be- 
reavement, still she communed with the broad 
river, and as she grieved, her thought was, that 
but for her children she would most willingly 
look upon its rolling waters for the last time. 
Then, too, came that other thought of the way 
the tiny stream, far up in the hills and track- 
less woods had forced its way through all the 
miles to pour itself, a great river at last, into 
the bosom of the sea. So must she keep on 
and no matter what obstacles she should meet, 
until at last she should be absorbed into the 
ocean of eternity. Prom the river she had 
drawn consolation, and as she greeted it each 
morning, and looked upon it each night, be- 
fore going to rest she had grown, unconsci- 
ously to feel that there was a bond of sym- 
pathy, a strengthening friendliness for her in 
this mighty stream that carried the wealth of 
nations as a child plays with its toys. She 
smiled now as she looked out on the sunjit 
water, taking on the colors of late afternoon. 
Was the river rejoicing with her in the pros- 
pect of Philip’s return? He had loved it since 
his boyhood, and he was glad exceedingly to 
come and live again in its daily companion- 
ship. But there is always something with- 
drawn when a blessing comes. Mrs. Vandoren 
almost laughed aloud as she thought how she 
would miss Philip’s weekly letter. In all the 
years of his absence it had never failed. 
When he first went away, he seemed such a 
boy to undertake the establishment of a 


20 


PAYING THE PIPER 


branch of their house in San Francisco. Then 
his letters were full of the freedom, the new- 
ness, the hurry and bustle of the great and 
golden west. He sent charming word pictures 
of the young city that sat at the far gate of 
this magnificent continent, and with the sub- 
lime arrogance of youth looked out over the 
Pacific and smiled patronizingly at the ancient 
civilization of the Orient. 

His letters were almost a journal of his daily 
life. Then, after a year’s absence he had come 
home to marry Genevieve Seldon, his playmate 
in childhood, his companion in school days, 
and all through his youth and young manhood, 
his fiancee, with never the formality of an an- 
nouncement of an engagement. It seemed to 
be a case of natural selection of the happiest 
kind. No one knew, they least of all when they 
were not lovers, when it was not understood 
between themselves, that, some day they would 
marry. When it came to pass, to their friends 
and to each other, it seemed only the public 
ratification of a bond that had long existed. 

For a few weeks after their arrival in San 
Francisco, Philip’s letters to his mother were 
full of this new and complete happiness. All 
the particulars of setting up housekeeping 
were detailed. All the excursions they made 
together over the glorious country, or up and 
down the bay, were duly chronicled. All the 
delightful discoveries he made of Genevieve’s 
unsuspected womanliness, were poured out in 
his long letters. This for a few weeks. Then 
there was a change, — slight, undefinable, but, it 


PAYING THE PIPER 


21 


was there. She could not be mistaken. Philip 
was concealing something. She tried to be- 
lieve it was in herself; that she was under- 
going that most natural feeling of the mother 
when her son, her first-born places his mate 
beside his mother in his affections. 

But she assured herself that this was not the 
case. She was glad that Philip had Genevieve 
with him. It was much better for him than to 
be alone, this boy who had always lived at 
home until sent away to further the interests 
of her own business and his. She was glad 
that the other members of the firm, old friends 
of his father, had this confidence in him. She 
acknowledged that she was selfish, that she 
considered Genevieve second, though, of 
course she would be very heartless not to de- 
sire comfort and happiness for her son’s wife. 
On this score she had not the slightest misgiv- 
ing. Of course, Genevieve was happy; the two 
were happy together. That was an assured 
fact. She had wondered and speculated over 
several letters without mentioning her anxiety 
to her other children. She would wait; but 
one day Flora Latham asked for news of 
Philip, and Mrs. Vandoren handed her his last 
letter without a word. She read it hurriedly, 
and then, before raising her eyes, she said : 

^‘Mother, what’s the matter with Phil? 
He’s in trouble.” 

‘‘Do you think so? I know his letters are 
different, but I hoped it was all in my vain 
imaginings.” 

“Let me see,” said Flora’s husband, tall, 


22 


PAYING THE PIPER 


lanky Leigh Latham. He read the letter care- 
fully, then looked smilingly from his wife to 
his mother-in-law. ^^Now, I can tell you all 
about it, because IVe been there!’’ and he 
slowly folded the letter, and put it into its en- 
velope. 

The two women watched him incredulously. 
What could he know of Philip ’s trouble ? And 
how had he ‘^been there?” 

‘‘You see,” and his smile illuminated his 
lean, dark face, and explained, as it always 
did, why so many women admired him, “You 
see, something very ordinary has happened, 
and it makes a fellow uneasy, even if his 
mother-in-law, his mother, old family doctor, 
and all the most approved outfit for emergen- 
cies is to be had by telephone. Now, Phil has 
none of these first three within less than five 
or six days’ journey, and though, of course, 
there are doctors and nurses in San Francisco, 
it’s not like having one’s old acquaintances. 
Phil’s scared. Why, Flo, mother, you never 
can guess how I lived in constant dread from 
a certain date about five years ago till that 
youngster out there on his wheel was all 
through teething. There’s nothing like it, and 
you may be sure that’s what’s the trouble with 
Phil.” 

Mrs. Vandoren smiled at her son-in-law, for 
whom she had a real affection, and Flora 
laughed: “You silly goose!” 

Leigh was a great comfort, and the two 
women hoped his diagnosis of the case was cor- 


PAYING THE PIPER 23 

rect. If it proved so, then surely PhiPs sor- 
row would turn to joy within a few months. 

And so it came to pass. Latham’s words 
came true rather sooner than was expected; 
but, instead of Philip’s letters recovering their 
natural tone, they were more reserved than be- 
fore. He filled them with himself and his 
work, rarely mentioning wife and child, ex- 
cepting to say, casually, ‘Hhe baby,” never 
‘^our baby,” is in usual health, or, ‘Hhe child 
has not been quite well lately; Genevieve will 
give particulars.” And Genevieve had given 
particulars; had sent photographs frequently 
of the little girl, and as frequently saying: 
‘‘She’s all Johnson. She’d be prettier if she 
looked like the Seldons or the Vandorens. I 
hoped she would resemble Phil, but she 
doesn’t, and it can’t be helped.” 

Now, within a few days, perhaps the mys- 
tery would b^e explained, and, perhaps there 
would be no mystery at last. Mrs. Vandoren 
had known through it all that there was no 
business trouble. She had kept her interest in 
the firm to the extent of weekly consultations 
with her late husband’s associates, and their 
reports from San Francisco were always fav- 
orable; there was always approval of Philip’s 
management. He was coming home now be- 
cause Louis Finley, second son of the second 
partner wished to take his turn at managing 
the western house, and Philip was as well 
pleased to return to New York. 

Mrs. Vandoren ’s communings with her old 
friend, the river, gave no solution to her won- 


24 


PAYING THE PIPER 


derings, but, it taught her, as in days before, 
patience. She watched the rose and lavender 
and blue of the sunset sky turn to gray, and 
her thoughts of her absent son were trustful. 
That he was, for some reason, unhappy, she 
was sure. 

He had no sorrow, his wife and child were 
alive. That he might have found imperfec- 
tions in Genevieve was only to be expected, and 
she must be greatly mistaken in his character 
if any small matter was turning the wine of 
life to bitterness.. Perhaps Genevieve — oh, that 
was a different matter. If her daughter-in- 
law had discovered that Philip was not, as a 
husband what, as a lover he had led her to 
expect, then the difficulty was indeed serious; 
and a man of Philip’s known general charac- 
ter must have some glaring fault if he made 
his wife unhappy. Ah, well! 

Max came behind her, threw his arms about 
her neck and clasped his hands below her chin ! 

^‘Look here, Katherine of Aragon, mother- 
kins is looking at the new moon over her right 
shoulder and wishing that Phil would come 
tramping up the Drive to-night.” 


CHAPTER IV 


‘^My boy ! let me look at you, Phil dear I Let 
me see what the years and the West have done 
to and for yon.^’ 

‘‘Oh, little mother and he laughed in her 
face; “I can see what the years and the East 
have done for you — bleached your hair, just a 
little — ^made it look like a snow bank, that the 
wind had blown into hillocks, eyes, not faded, 
just the same deep, dark, true German blue, 
still straight in the shoulders, waist like a girl, 
altogether the same high-headed, slim duchess 
of a woman that IVe been in love with ever 
since I was born,’’ and Philip clasped his 
mother in his arms, there in the long parlor, 
glowing with the golden light of the setting 
sun. 

Mrs. Vandoren had written: “Phil, dear, I 
want my boy all to myself for at least one 
evening. Let Genevieve and the little one go 
to Mrs. Seldon’s for the time. I’m sure it will 
be pleasanter for us all.” So it was arranged. 
Katherine and Max, Leigh and Flora met 
Philip as he stepped from the train, but, his 
eyes wandered past them. “Where’s mother?” 
and, all talking together, he was told that 
“mother” did not care to come and meet him 
25 


26 


PAYING THE PIPEE 


in a crowd. ‘‘Not “No, oh, no,’’ was 

answered in chorus, and, after inspecting the 
little Annetje and giving affectionate greetings 
to Genevieve, the two families separated into 
their respective motor cars and went speed- 
ing up town. 

Flora Latham, in her mother’s confidence in 
regard to suspected trouble, watched her 
brother narrowly. All she discovered was that 
there were no signs of affection between him- 
self and his wife. He had handed Barbara 
into the Seldon car, and was about to assist 
Genevieve when he was given a bit of a good- 
natured push by Dirck J ohnson, who stepped in 
front of him, and assisted Genevieve with a 
caress as he did so. Barbara said sharply: 
“Dirck, don’t be silly,” and was answered by 
the stout, stolid one with a loud “Ha! ha! 
aren’t we cousins!” and he hugged little An- 
netje rapturously as he climbed in beside Gen- 
evieve with the child in his arms. 

Max, standing by, remarked: “Dirck, the 
kid’s just like you. You ought to keep her al- 
ways. ’ ’ 

“Seems to me,” Genevieve said, and Kath- 
erine wondered to see her face grow scarlet, 
“seems to me there’s another one should be 
advised against silliness.” 

Philip made no remark, simply nodded to 
the chauffeur to go. In the little company 
Leigh and Max were in the minority. Philip 
sat between his sisters, and, all could see ex- 
cepting, of course, Katherine herself, how he 
noticed the change the five years had made in 


PAYING THE PIPES 


27 


her, and how he was pleased. His eyes con- 
tinually wandered to her face, and once catch- 
ing Latham ^s understanding eyes, he re- 
marked, ‘^Yes, by George! prettiest thing in 
New York!’’ 

Katherine was so busy chattering, the by- 
play passed; but Flora hugged Phillip’s arm 
still closer, and pettishly exclaimed, ‘‘No, say 
I’m pretty, too!” 

Her brother laughed and pinched her chin, 
“You’ve got Leigh to flatter you, and our lit- 
tle sister is a beauty.” 

The ensuing weeks were busy ones, what 
with the furnishing of the new house, the re- 
ceiving of old friends, the sudden pauses 
amidst the most critical of arrangements to 
talk over the happenings of the five years of 
absence; it was a fine thing that there was no 
time limit for the work, and that the more 
arduous parts of it was left to people whose 
business it was to arrange and re-arrange to 
suit the capricious fancy of those most inter- 
ested. 

Philip remained in his mother’s house, going 
to business each day, and sometimes stopping 
at the house of his father-in-law for a few 
minutes, either going or returning, that was 
all. When he was alone with his mother, 
brother and sisters, he was the same as he had 
always been since his father’s death; the head 
of the family, the protecting elder brother, the 
jovial companion, and more than all, the affec- 
tionate son; the reliable business advisor of 
his mother. When his wife and child were by, 


28 


PAYING THE PIPER 


there was a difference. He treated Genevieve 
with formal politeness and the little Annetje 
he noticed not at all. Not one of the two fam- 
ilies ever saw the least show of affection be- 
tween the husband and wife who had stood in 
their midst five years ago to take upon them- 
selves this relationship under the happiest aus- 
pices. There were no quarrels, no sharp 
speeches, but those most observant, notably 
the two mothers, thought that sometimes Gen- 
evieve watched Philip as if she was in fear of 
him. During these weeks the two were never 
alone together, and when, after some family 
function at either one or the other of the two 
parental homes they parted, there was never 
a hand clasp, no lingering near each other, no 
least sign of a caress, no hint of fondness. At 
first, too, it had seemed a pretty baby caprice 
that the little Annetje should speak to and of 
Philip as ‘‘Misteh Van,’^ but, as the days and 
weeks went by, and he was never seen to touch 
the child excepting when compelled to, never 
gave her the least notice, it excited wonder. 

One day Max, the irrepressible, remarked to 
Katherine: ‘‘Phil doesnT care a rap for the 
kid, does heT’ 

Katherine answered, ‘ ‘ Oh, I guess he does, but 
you see he’s disappointed because she’s such 
a homely little copy of Dirck Johnson. I don’t 
see why she has to look like him, and really I 
believe Genevieve’s growing to look like him, 
too.” 

“Oh, Gen’s all right — not as good-looking as 


PAYING THE PIPER 29 

I thought she was, hut still the best of the 
bunch. ’ ’ 

Aunt Dempsey Starr gazed through her 
spectacles at her grand-niece and nephew, and 
shook her head. To the often repeated won- 
derings of the family as to the strange state 
of feeling that apparently existed between 
Philip and Genevieve, she had remarked : 
‘‘DonT pry. Time will tell. There may be a 
sad story back of it all, but, of one thing I’m 
sure, Philip has done nothing wrong. You 
may be sure he’s the burden bearer. I knew 
his great-grand-father, and the others between, 
and I knew his great-grand-father’s wife, Kate 
Keifer, and though the marriage was wrong in 
the beginning, it grew to be a more comfort- 
able one than many that start out with better 
prospects. I’ve no doubt that my cousin 
Christian made Kate a better husband than 
might some man of her own class.” 

‘‘Auntie,” and Katherine seated herself on 
the broad arm of Mrs. Starr’s chair, “won’t 
you, some day tell me all about our great- 
grand-father, Wallberg, and Kate Keifer? It 
must be a pleasant story in some ways, isn’t 
it?” 

“Yes, Katy, in some ways; you know: ‘Into 
every life some rain must fall.’ Our good poet 
knew that, too.” 

“Oh, yes, of course, and — well, I’ve had no 
trouble worth mentioning excepting,” and 
Katherine’s voice was very low, “when father 
died. Oh, my! I felt that the world would 


30 


PAYING THE PIPER 


surely come to an end, but, mother and the 
rest had to bear it, too.” 

^‘Yes, and she did, and does bear it. I think 
sometimes the good Lord hasn’t entire con- 
fidence in his own work, so he tests it. He 
tries men and women with all sorts of troubles 
to see how strong they are, — how much they 
will bear, and grow stronger by bearing. You 
know he did that way with Job, and, he may 
be trying Philip in some hard way; but, he’ll 
come out of it stronger than he was in the be- 
ginning. That’s the way it was with his great- 
grandfather, Wallberg, and the blood hasn’t 
grown weaker. Philip’s like my cousin at his 
age. Some day you must travel down into 
Maryland and see his portrait ! I’m sure some 
of the family must be there still, in the big 
stone house; and the likeness was very good.” 

“That’s where I’ll go on my wedding jour- 
ney,” and Katherine laughed and patted Aunt 
Dempsey’s hand. 

“Your wedding journey?” Mrs. Starr 
peered at the girl through her spectacles. 
“And when are you to be married?” 

“Oh, I don’t know — whenever the prince 
comes.” 

“I’m thinking a great deal about that last 
house that Mellicent sold to Oscar Rudolph ; is 
that the name?” 

“Yes, Auntie, he expects his wife and chil-‘ 
dren on — well some one of the White Star 
line steamers, now within a few days.” 

“I knew an Oscar Rudolph long ago, and he 


PAYING THE PIPER 


31 


was, inadvertently, the canse of a great dis- 
appointment to my cousin, Christian Wall- 
berg. ’ ’ 

‘‘That was great-grandfather!^’ 

“Yes, I’ll tell you all about it, after I see 
this new Mr. Rudolph. He may not be of the 
same family at all, but still ” Aunt Demp- 

sey lapsed into silence and Katherine, too, 
gazed out of the open window without seeing 
the many carriages up and down the Drive. 
Presently, sliding her arm over Mrs. Starr’s 
silk kerchiefed shoulders, she said earnestly: 
“Auntie, if I could be sure that Philip doesn’t 
care for little Annetje because she’s homely, 
I’d feel like — shaking him.” 

Mrs. Starr laughed. “Dearie, you needn’t 
suspect your brother of any such weakness.” 

“But you see, Phil’s so fond of beautiful 
things, and, when Flora’s children are by, he’s 
never done gazing at and admiring them. He 
plays with them, too, and talks to Leigh and 
Flora about them. He’s so proud that little 
Mellicent looks like him, and that everybody 
says so.” 

“Yes, Flora’s children are beautiful. The 
boy is like his father, but will be handsomer. 
It seems to me always the loveliest thing in 
nature, that the first baby should closely re- 
semble its father, who, in the great majority 
of cases, is still the lover as well as the hus- 
band. Yes, Mellicent, is all Vandoren. It is 
a great pity that Genevieve ’s child should have 
“sorted out” as the blacks used to say down 


32 


PAYING THE PIPEE 


on the plantation. But there may be other 
babies in Philipps house, and Annetje only 
prove to be the one ugly duckling. It is to be 
hoped, that, whether or not her face improves, 
that shedl develop mentally.’’ 


CHAPTER V: 

^^Has your motlier given you tliis house out- 
right?” 

‘‘You mean, has she executed a deed?” 

“Yes.” 

“No; why should she do that?” 

“Why? Well, seems to me anyone would 
know why she should not have it in her own 
hands to turn us into the street at any time the 
fancy should strike her.” 

Philip looked at Genevieve and his gaze was 
concentrated scorn. They were in their new 
home, and dinner was over. They found 
themselves alone together for the first time 
within several months. Presently Philip an- 
swered : ‘ ‘ My mother displays her usual busi- 
ness acumen by keeping in her own possession 
a house that is occupied by a woman who can 
make such an estimate of her character.” 

“Oh, I know it’s of no use to say one word 
to you where your mother ’s concerned, because 
you’re dependent upon her, and ” 

“Well, go on.” 

“I never saw a more tyrannical woman, nor 
more abject slaves than her children are.” 

“Indeed! Still, you can’t deny that the 
33 


34 PAYING THE PIPEE 

tyrant has provided fairly well for you and — 
yours. 

Genevieve face flushed. ^^Me and mine! 
When my mother recovers her dues in the 
great Jansen estate youfll have no reason for 
repeating that sneer. 

‘‘Oh, that Jansen estate! Your mother has 
about as much prospect of realizing from that 
as Max has of drawing an income from his 
castles in Spain. 

“So much the more reason then that your 
mother should deed this house to you, or 
rather, to me.’’ 

“To you! Well, of all the arrogant and 
grasping traits in your make-up that you’ve 
discovered to me up to date this over-tops 
everything. ’ ’ 

“It would be but simple justice after the 
way you’ve treated me all these years.” 

“If you had met with simple justice at my 
hands, you’d have been sent back to your 
father’s house five years ago.” 

“Yes, no doubt you’ve been so pure, so im- 
maculate, such a modern Sir Galahad you’d 
have dared to do anything of that kind.” 

“Dared! Indeed I would have dared. I’ve 
never made any special pretensions of purity, 
never entered any cup race with Saint An- 
thony, but, I’ve never brought any of my sins 
home for you to mother.” 

Genevieve sat silent, her arms folded on the 
table before her. She frowned, and her lips 
were compressed into a scarlet line. All about 
her was beauty of form, harmony of color. 


PAYING THE PIPER 


35 


There was nothing out of tune excepting the 
faces and voices of the occupants of the hand- 
some room. 

'‘Of course youVe had to blab to your 
mother all about everything, and I^m at her 
mercy. ^ ’ 

"No, Vve not blabbed to my mother. Of 
course she knows there ^s something wrong, 
something out of joint. So does your mother, 
so does anybody who has the sense that God 
gives geese, seeing us together, and the aver- 
age man at least will at once guess the truth. ’ ’ 

"How can they guess the truth? People are 
as likely to think the fault yours and that I am 
only tolerating you.^’ 

"Yes, that’s true, and, for the credit of the 
three families most concerned, I’m glad of it. 
Such things, owing to the pig-headedness of 
society, don’t hurt .a man as they do a woman. 
I’m very glad that I am the one person who is 
wise to the true state of the case.” 

"And with all your wisdom, what, even do 
you know? You’ve never felt sufficient inter- 
est in me to ask one single question.” 

"Why should I ask questions? Why should 
I feel any interest in you after knowing beyond 
a doubt what I knew when we had been mar- 
ried a month and a half?” 

"And yet, for so many years before you 
pretended to love me.” 

' ' There was no pretense about it. I did love 
you, but, I loved in you my ideal of a good 
honest maid. When I found out my mistake, 
could I go on loving what you proved to be? 


36 


PAYING THE PIPEE 


You deceived me; lied to me, and your deceit 
was of the kind that betrays itself.’^ 

your own sins of this nature could be- 
tray themselves I fancy you would be much 
more guilty than I.’’ 

‘‘Perhaps; but, I never deceived you. I told 
you long ago that I had done the things that 
other men do, but, as I said before, you’ve 
never been asked to live in the house with any 
of the consequences of my sins of this line.” 

“Don’t you believe I’ve been true to you 
since our marriage T’ 

“There’s no evidence that you haven’t been, 
and I’ve never cared enough about it to pry. 
However, now that we are home again, and 
this seems to be a convenient time to serve the 
notice. I’ll tell you this: You may look up 
this old lover of yours, whoever he may be. 
For the sake of my mother, more than for my 
own, I’ve stood by you once; I’ve paid the 
piper once, for another man’s dancing; but, by 
all your hopes of reclaiming a fortune from 
the Trinity Corporation, and by all my sense 
of honor as a man. I’ll never do it again.” 

“What do you mean?” and Genevieve’s lips 
turned white. 

“I mean just this: If you renew your in- 
timacy with your child’s father. I’ll expect you 
to see to it that there are no more brats. Do 
you understand? If there are, or if I discover 
any such prospects. I’ll divorce you under the 
laws of this state. You know what that 
means ! ’ ’ 

Genevieve fairly snarled: “You expect me 


PAYING THE PIPER 


37 


to live the life of a nan, while you, — yon scat- 
ter your favors and your money here, there 
and everywhere. Do you think I’m stone T’ 

‘^No, I don’t think you’re stone. What an 
idea!” and Philip laughed in a way that was 
not mirthful. ‘^Nor do I expect you to live 
the life of a nun. If I did I’m sure you’d dis- 
appoint me. What I do expect is that you will 
use common decency in regard to consequences. 
As for scattering my money and my favors, — 
well, why not? Since I’ve been undeniably lib- 
eral in my treatment of another man’s mis- 
tress, I ought in common honesty to provide 
fairly for my own.” 

Genevieve’s face was distorted with rage. 
She shook her clenched hands towards Philip, 
where he carelessly lounged in a sleepy hollow 
chair. wish you’d die! I wish I could see 
you dead before morning.” 

‘‘That’s very foolish of you, and it’s a good 
thing that all fool prayers are not answered, 
even for the fool’s sake. Don’t think for a 
minute that your secret would die with me. 
Do you suppose I’ve not guarded against the 
possibility of providing for you and Annetje 
in case one or both of you outlive me? And, 
you seem to forget, too, that Dr. Alex Graeme 
knows all about it. Now, try to control your 
devilish temper. I know you’re in a trying 
position, but it might be worse.” 

“How? How could a woman be treated 
worse than I am? Tell me that.” 

“Don’t be idiotic. Haven’t I kept your 
secret all these years? Don’t I treat you with 


38 


PAYING THE PIPER 


consideration Before folks? Haven T you a 
beautiful house to live in, and a liberal allow- 
ance for dress? Of course, all this doesnT 
blind the innocent spectator entirely to the 
true state of the case. The average looker-on 
can see that Phil Van. is disillusioned, but 
they don’t know why. They can see, too, that 
the woman he married has nothing to complain 
of, excepting that her only child is a homely, 
half-witted brat, entirely like some of her own 
relations.” 

Genevieve was weeping stormily. ‘‘There’s 
no use of me ever trying to live in comfort; 
I can never take my place in society, as I ought. 
You’ll always hold this over me.” 

“I? You’ve provided the lash for yourself, 
and it is you who always bring up the matter. 
Do you expect me to sit in silence and take 
your reproaches? Have I no right to justify 
myself after all I’ve borne for you?” 

“Sometimes, some women have been for- 
given. ’ ’ 

“Perhaps. I don’t understand forgiveness 
as some folks do. They do a mean thing, and, 
if they’re found out, they go otf somewhere in 
the dark, plump down on their knees, and pray 
to something, somewhere, that they have in- 
herited belief in. After doing this, they get up, 
open the closet door, and walk out into the 
light of day and the society of decent people, 
making believe that the mean action is un- 
done. ’ ’ 

“And isn’t that better than never to be re- 
pentant at all!” 


39 


PAYING THE PIPER 

‘^What is the benefit of repentance? Does 
it destroy the consequences of the sin? Isn’t 
the character just the same? Has the capacity 
and the disposition to do mean, cowardly 
things disappeared with the ‘'please God make 
Johnny a good boy” prayer? Not by a jug- 
full ! As generally understood, these two 
words ought to be erased from our diction- 
aries.” 

“If you were a religious man you’d have 
treated me differently.” 

“That may be. I’ve noticed frequently that 
very pious folks have a poor variety of com- 
mon sense, and exceedingly crude ideas of 
justice.” 

“Well, I sincerely hope, that sometime you’ll 
find yourself between the mill stones, and when 
you ask for mercy and forgiveness you’ll get 
your own kind of justice.” 

“My deeds upon my head. I’ll never try to 
dodge consequences. It’s of no use. The mills 
of the gods never shut down. They work full 
time no matter what may be the flurry amongst 
the banks, nor what story the tickers may be 
telling in Wall Street. But, along this line, 
there’s one thing that I don’t understand. 
Why should I, a fairly decent man as men go, 
be elected to draw the ticket I did in the matri- 
monial market?” 

Genevieve drew her lips into what she meant 
for a smile, but it degenerated into a malicious 
grin as she said: “Your ticket would have 
been all to your liking if I had only had sense 
enough to manage things better. What a cal- 


40 


PAYING THE PIPER 


amitous mistake it was tliat I consulted Alex 
Graeme, and he, baby fashion, must have you 
in his confidence before undertaking my case. 
If you had believed that I met with an acci- 
dent ” and she concluded with a hard rat- 

tling laugh, and threw herself back in her 
chair. 

Just so, ‘what the eye doesn’t see the heart 
doesn’t grieve over.’ You were ready and 
anxious to fool me into a confirmation of my 
belief in you. What Alex thought was said 
very tersely when he knew the true state of the 
affair, and no doctor will undertake a criminal 
case alone. He insists on having the sanction 
of some one besides the woman most inter- 
ested. Of course he knew at once — circum- 
stantial evidence is conclusive, — sometimes — 
that I was not responsible for your condition. ’ ’ 

“Then of course, man fashion, he condoled 
with you, though no doubt he knew of twenty, 
or even fifty sins of your own of the same 
kind. ’ ’ 

“No, there were no condolences, and, though 
Alex and I had been quite confidential with 
each other, he couldn’t have put an accusing 
finger on any sin of mine that equalled your 
own. There are degrees in all kinds of sins. 
If you, sometime within the fortnight that I 
was here before we were married, had told me 
the truth; if you had told me you preferred 
this other lover before me, as you surely did, 
I’d have released you, and done all in my 
power to further your happiness. If you had 
told me that you had been badly treated by 


PAYING THE PIPER 


41 


some cowardly scamp, I’d have killed him, 
helped you out of your trouble and married 
you, but, the course you pursued — well, it’s dif- 
ferent. I’d rather be anything I can think of 
than a scape-goat, and I refuse absolutely to 
do any more in that character than I’m doing 
now. ’ ’ 

can’t see that you’re doing anything at 
all in that character.” 

‘^No? You’re near-sighted. You can’t see 
that I ’m carrying the burden of your sin ; and 
you’d be glad if the goat should stampede and 
disappear into the wilderness. Only a few 
minutes ago you wished me dead.” 

‘‘Because I never feel' safe; never feel at 
ease. I know that you’re always thinking of 
just one thing, and I never know what you may 
do. No matter how well you provide for me, 
I know it’s because you don’t want a scandal 
in the family, and something may happen, al- 
most any time, that will ruin me entirely.” 

“Yes, that’s true. Of course, I may die, may 
be killed' as my father was. Things like that 
we can’t control. Otherwise, your fate is in 
your own hands, and never deceive yourself 
into a false security by thinking that I’ll not 
live up to my word. Don’t think that because 
I refrain from storming and raging as some 
folks do that I have no outraged feelings, no 
sense of honor, or of plain, common everyday 
honesty between men and women. The natives 
of the torrid countries have a wisdom of their 
own. They don’t conclude, from silence and 
the lack of movement that the jungle is unoc- 


42 


PAYING THE PIPER 


cupied. The tiger may be asleep, but he’s 
there. Now, drop this, as well as the notion 
that my mother is under any obligations to you, 
or even to me. She is managing her estate in 
accordance with my father’s will. I receive 
a liberal salary from the business in which she 
is partner in place of my father, and if I didn ’t 
earn this salary, I wouldn’t get it. My 
mother’s real estate is her own. The business 
has nothing to do with it. When Leigh 
Latham married Flora, he could scarcely be 
persuaded to live in their house without pay- 
ing rent, and, he does pay a very fair rent in 
the assistance he gives my mother, besides the 
love and affection he has for her. Now, go 
on with your plans for your house-warming, 
and do try to keep your temper within bounds. 
I wish you could realize how you injure your 
looks by these storms, and you never had any 
beauty to throw away.” 


CHAPTER VI 


It was the first reception of the season, the 
house warming of the Philip Vandorens. The 
company was mostly old friends of the hus- 
band and wife, friends who had known them 
since their childhood. They came flocking in 
to greet the two and admire their beautifully 
built and tastefully furnished house. Because 
of the families of Philip and Genevieve, they 
had not been forgotten, as city people usually 
are after an absence. Their mothers were so- 
ciety women, and the one being senior partner 
in the great house of Vandoren, Finley and 
Rogers was reckoned not only in social, but 
also in business circles. Genevieve’s father 
was a fairly well known, though not an emi- 
nent lawyer, and his family lived in good 
style on Madison Avenue. 

So, their many friends, as they greeted the 
two, were heard to say: ‘‘How long were you 
away?” “Oh, is it possible, five years? How 
time flies!” All agreed that time had dealt 
generously with Philip. His young manhood 
seemed at its best, now at a trifle past thirty, 
and his mother watched him with tender pride 
as she recalled his father’s face, and figure 
at the same age. Aunt Dempsey might de- 
43 


44 


PAYING THE PIPER 


dare, like his great-grandfather, my 

Cousin Christian;’’ still his mother knew he 
was Philip Vandoren third, and so like his 
father. Ah, well, the eyes of love will see what 
it desires. 

Genevieve in her trailing rose-colored 
gown, if not handsome, was quite elegant and 
stylish. The one change that her old friends 
noted in her was an expression of peevish- 
ness and watchfulness, curtness and irritabil- 
ity. 

The husband and wife stood together to re- 
ceive their friends, but their own people noted 
now as they had noted ever since the home- 
coming, that their manner toward each other 
was of the most formal politeness. There was 
never the furtive glance, the smile of perfect 
understanding, the unobtrusive touching of 
shoulders and the lingering linking of fingers. 
All these small lover-like manners, so common 
amongst husbands and wives of five years and 
more, were absent. 

Flora Latham, standing against a portiere 
that half hid Leigh on the othfer side, whis- 
pered: “Dear, it breaks my heart to see those 
two. Mind what I say, Gen’s afraid of Phil. 
How has such a state of things come about! 
Their ’s was such a beautiful love match. ’ ’ 

Latham looked down at her, the fascination 
of his dark eyes that led other women captive, 
veiled by the affection for this one. He 
fondled her gloved arm, hidden by the curtain. 
“It’s a pity,” he sighed; “I can’t say what 
I think, dear, only this, and mind, it’s only my 


PAYING THE PIPER 


45 


thought. PhiPs carrying a heavy burden, and 
he ^11 carry it all his life if necessary. For 
lack of proof, I wouldnT put my diagnosis of 
the case into words, for a clear title to the 
whole property of the Trinity Corporation, 
with compound interest added. 

Flora looked at him solemnly, ^‘Oh, Leigh.’’ 

‘‘You see, Phil’s so honorable, he has such 
a lofty sense of a man’s obligations to his wife 
and children — and ” 

“Come out of this, you two,” a pleasant 
voice greeted them, and both turned to meet 
the jolly face and warm hand clasp of Dr. 
Carey Finley, son of the Finley of the firm. 

“Mrs. Latham,” he continued, “there’s 
dancing in that beautiful room across the hall. 
I’d like to have a whirl with you in memory 
of our dancing school days when Leigh’s eyes 
used to turn green. Come, I want to see him 
do the trick again.” 

“Time’s past. No need of jealousy now, I 
won.” 

“Yes, I know you won, but there’s no jeal- 
ousy like that of the man who knows he’s in 
possession, yet feels that the law is his only 
surety.” 

“You go to. When I descend to jealousy 
I’ll go out and cut my neck. I wouldn’t insult 
my dog by being jealous.” 

“Oh, come along Carey; this cold-blooded 
philosopher would better go and dance with 
Barbara. Do go, Leigh, see, she looks lone- 
some.” 

“Now, Flo, you have such a fad for making 


46 


PAYING THE PIPER 


me do disagreeable things. Why don’t you 
tell me to dance with that pretty copper-haired 
creature over there! Who is she anyway!” 

‘‘That girl in the pale green cloud!” 

“Yes, there against the silver-gray of the 
older woman! By George! what a picture!” 

“Oh, that’s Louise Rudolph — those new 
people, you know, who bought that lovely 
house. Now, go and take Barbara out of her 
loneliness, just for a turn or two, and then ^ 
I’ll introduce you to Louise. She’s lovely, and 
you’ll look well together,” and with a pinch 
of his fingers and a look that was a caress, 
she went away to waltz with Carey Finley, 
whose attentions in the days of their unmar- 
ried freedom had not been as flippant as he 
now made believe. 

As they entered the spacious room where the 
band, hidden by palms, played a sad, wailing 
waltz, they almost collided with a slender, 
graceful gypsy of a woman, who danced like 
a wind flower, with plain, rather awkward 
J ansen Seldon. ‘ ‘ Ah, ’ ’ Carey breathed, ‘ ‘ some- 
times Celeste wearies me with her everlasting 
black, but in a crowd where there are all sorts 
of colors and shades, it’s mighty fetching.” 

“Don’t ever meddle with Celeste’s taste in 
dress. It’s simply superb. She wears such 
lovely house gowns, too.” 

“Yes, everything she puts on is appropriate 
for time and place. It’s lucky for me that this 
is so. Tell you what, Flo, I believe if my 
wife was not neat and dainty I’d — ^well, per- 


PAYING THE PIPER 47 

haps I wouldnT just kill her on the quiet, hut 
I’m sure I’d take to the ” 

^‘Oh, not to the woods, you’d go slouchy, 
too.” 

^^No, I’d not go to the woods, I’d take to 
the civilized trick of hunting for those charm- 
ing traits in the houses of my neighbors.” 

Flora laughed, but said soberly: sup- 

pose a woman who likes to be neat and appro- 
priately dressed at all times deserves no credit 
for her elegance. She’d be uncomfortable in 
an unbecoming gown and sloppy shoes.” 

‘^And badly kept hair — that’s the worst. If 
one sees a woman in a wrapper, kimono, or 
any old thing; if her hair is nice, it’s a 
promise of further improvement. I suppose 
it’s as much a part of some women’s nature 
to be slovenly as it is of others to always be 
fresh and dainty.” 

‘^Yes, I suppose so, — ‘it is He that hath 
made us;’ and it’s a great pity when birds of 
a feather are not mated with each other.” 

“Now look,” as they passed a crowded part 
of the room and came into an open space; 
“Isn’t that brother of mine having a jolly 
time, just for the moment?” 

Flora laughed: “How handsome Jack is. 
That touch of grey in his hair is very becom- 
ing. ’ ’ 

“Yes, and now just cast your eye on Ethel, 
his lovely wife! there she sits beside Mrs. 
Jamison — frowsy as usual, and in the usual 
dirty lace gown.” 

“Poor Jack! How she watches him.” 


48 


PAYING THE PIPER 


^‘Yes, iHs a standing joke amongst the boys, 
how well he’s taken care of, but to him it’s no 
joke.” 

^‘No, I suppose not, and it seems he’s not 
very successful in following the civilized habit 
of searching for congeniality.” 

‘‘No, Ethel’s forbears must have been fer- 
rets.” 

“Carey!” and Flora tried to look reprov- 
ing and elderly. 

“Oh, I tell you, Flo, she’s a holy terroi'- 
By the Lord Harry, I don’t believe there’s a 
vile thing under the sun she wouldn’t do.” 

“Do you think there was really anything in 
that story last winter about Jack and the little 
freak who died in mother ’s apartment house ? ’ ’ 

“Very little, excepting Ethel’s evil tongue. 
Of course he admired her, as I did, and as did 
all the men who knew her. She was really a 
very fascinating woman. Why, Flora, if we 
had known the financial straits the little fakir 
was in, just for want of a few hundreds, think 
of it — only a few hundreds, why, we’d have 
passed round the hat, and, well, she wouldn’t 
have taken it, but, we could have trumped up 
some sort of a story of a lucky deal on some 
of her business schemes. She had several in 
hand, in partnership with that shyster lawyer 
down in Wall Street.” 

They went down one side of the room in 
silence. Then, as they again passed Ethel 
Finley, Flora said: 

“I often wonder how Ethel passes her time. 
She gives no attention to her housekeeping; 


PAYING THE PIPER 


49 


her children are away from home because she 
took no care of them, and she doesnT even 
keep her person decently.’’ 

‘H’ll tell you. You’ve seen her going about 
with that big, grey-haired, bold-eyed woman in 
purple?. Yes, she’s wearing a suit of purple 
this fall.” 

‘‘Mrs. MontfortI” 

“Yes, that’s her. name; Montfort makes slot 
machines. Well, Jack has told me that Ethel 
and Mrs. Montfort have set up all sorts of 
traps for him — something like the regular old 
badger game — traps you know, to fool him 
into a real or seeming intimacy with the Mont- 
fort woman. On one occasion, when the three 
were all more or less drunk — bah! it’s too in- 
decent to talk about. Jack said he felt like 
blowing out his brains after he got sober, and 
realized what a fool he’d been.” 

“But, Carey, why should Ethel encourage a 
thing of that sort when she’s always so in- 
sanely jealous?” 

“Perhaps you’ve never noticed that these 
intensely jealous people are usually those who 
have eaten of the fruit of the tree of knowl- 
edge. They know what men and women are 
capable of. I once hinted to J ack, and I found 
the idea was already well grown in his own 
mind, that Ethel would like to intrerxch her- 
self behind some peccadillo of his against the 
time of discovery of her own intrigue with 
the he Montfort.” 

“Carey! I never would have dreamed that 
Ethel was of that sort. In fact,” and Flora 


50 


PAYING THE PIPER 


laughed, ‘‘I didn^t suppose any man would be 
attracted by her. IVe wondered so often wbat 
ever Jack saw in her that led him to marry 
her. ’ ’ 

‘‘You never can tell; but I think it was 
largely a matter of sympathy. She was a very 
poor girl, hadn’t even a home; he was young, 
not much past twenty-one, she’s older, you 
know, and they met by chance," the usual way. 
I don’t know, and nobody quite knows — but, 
this sexual attraction, is a curious part of our 
nature. It’s about all that Ethel believes in, 
and I guess she works, and has always worked 
it to its fullest capacity. But it’s one of the 
most capricious qualities of human nature. 
Neither man nor woman can be held by it if 
the intellectual and spiritual are entirely want- 
ing. I mean men and women of, say, our own 
grade. Ethel is now something past forty, and 
she’s never grown, never learned, nor orig- 
inated a new idea for the last — well for all the 
years I’ve known her. I wonder that Jack has 
not deteriorated more than he has. She reads 
absolutely nothing — no. I’ll revise that, she 
does read advertisements of bargain sales, and 
she hunts bargains. That’s one thing she does 
to fill her time.” 

“Poor Jack,” and Flora stopped. The 
room was growing more and more crowded. 
“Didn’t they seem to be happy together when 
they were first married? I was not in society 
then, and, though I heard my mother and her 
friends talk about the inequality of appear- 


PAYING THE PIPER 


51 


ance, I never heard anything of their domestic 
trouble until lately — in fact, until last winter. ’ ^ 
They’ve always lived a cat and dog life, 
but it was never known beyond the home folks 
and a few of our more intimate friends until 
lately. Now, of course, everybody knows, and 
Ethel takes pains to say — Oh, with all her other 
fiendish traits, she’s the most unmitigated liar 
that ever was born, and she’s at most particu- 
lar pains to put all blame of her domestic 
storms on your mother and mine.” 

‘‘Blames my mother? What has my mother 
to do with it?” 

“That little freak, whatever her name was 
doesn’t matter now, but she died in yoiir 
mother’s apartment house, and your mother 
stood by her when she was being traduced by 
folks who had been hand and glove with her in 
her prosperity. Your mother even defended 
her after she was dead. You know “the rarity 
of Christian charity.” So rare it is that most 
of people don’t know it from dog fennel and 
sheep sorrel.” 

Flora laughed. “I fancy my mother never 
lost any sleep over the matter, but she was 
grieved that she didn’t know the state of that 
little woman’s finances. There now, we’ve had 
our waltz, and a heart to heart talk, and there 
goes Leigh, dutiful boy, taking Barbara back 
to her mother. He’s expecting his reward. 

“And he’s reminding me, in pantomine, that 
my claim on you was for one dance only.” 

“Oh, not that, you know I promised to pre- 
sent him to that beautiful Louise Rudolph, 


52 


PAYING THE PIPEE 


Have you met her! Come along. She’s 
simply irresistible. She’s lived abroad so 
much, she has the most fascinating little tricks 
of speech in her English. ’ ’ 

‘‘They’re German, aren’t they!” 

“Of German extraction on the father’s side, 
though for several generations, they’re Ameri- 
can born. Aunt Dempsey Starr has a fancy 
that she must have known the first Oscar Ku- 
dolph, who was a contemporary of my great- 
grandfather down in Maryland. To-morrow, 
if the day is fine, she’s to be taken to call at 
the house to compare her memories with any 
facts that the family may be able to supply. ’ ’ 

They had reached the sofa where Miss Eu- 
dolph sat by her mother. Flora presented Dr. 
Finley, and afterward her husband, and 
Latham led the beautiful girl away to the ball 
room. 

The whole house had been thrown open to 
guests, and the whole house was rather more 
than comfortably filled. There was no opera, 
as yet, it seemed there were no special attrac- 
tions at the theatres, and very few regrets had 
been sent; these few came from people who 
were remaining at their country places or in 
Europe until after Thanksgiving. Genevieve 
had been advised by both her mother and her 
mother-in-law to have her house warming at 
once and so establish herself for the season. 
Katherine added: “And have it off your 
mind, Gen. Then you can go out all winter 
and never give a thought to the party that you 


PAYING THE PIPER 53 

must give next year,^’ and she finished with a 
grimace. 

‘HVe no doubt iPs the best thing to do, but, 
you see IVe been away so long, I donT know 
what New York folks are doing in the way of 
parties.’’ 

Max here found place for some of his uni- 
versal wisdom: ‘‘Just the same old things. 
Invite everybody, and put them into your debt 
if you’re not paying your own; hope the ma- 
jority won’t show up, and on the night of the 
show down, find that all the chumps have 
come, and all the desirable citizens have sent 
regrets. Same old way, nothing new under the 
sun but the dresses.” 

Genevieve remembered what her impertinent 
young brother-in-law had said when her guests 
began to arrive, and she decided to tell Max, at 
their next meeting, that for once at least he 
was mistaken. The desirables came flocking 
in, and there really seemed to be a scarcity of 
the other kind. There were plenty of danc- 
ing men, and everything was harmonious. 

But, suddenly there was a sensation. No- 
body had seen him come in, but there was 
Dirck Johnson, pushing his stout figure 
through the circle that surrounded the hos- 
tess, and stretching out his hand in its soiled 
white glove. 

“Hello, Genevieve,” he said boisterously; 
“you begun to think old Dirck wasn’t coming, 
didn’t you?” and passing his arm over her 
bare shoulders, he kissed her, long and loud, 
then dragged his other hand caressingly across 


54 


PAYING THE PIPEE 


her bosom. ‘^Nobody’s quite so handsome as 
my Gen/’ and be pressed himself closely 
against her. 

The guests fell away, speechless and staring. 
Philip’s face went white to the lips. He was 
about to speak, as Genevieve seemed incapable 
of speech or motion, when Mr. and Mrs. Seldon 
hurried up and, taking Dirck forcibly by the 
arms, led him away, while he exclaimed, laugh- 
ing a great ‘^ha! ha! Oh, you thought your- 
selves very smart, never to give me an invita- 
tion to Gen’s party, but, I got here just the 
same.” The three disappeared together and 
Mr.’ Seldon was not seen again. Mrs. Seldon, 
after a time came quietly into the more ob- 
scure parts of the rooms and looked after Bar- 
bara. That young woman was heard to re- 
mark to her mother : ^ Ht ’s simply disgraceful, 
and it, all comes of Gen’s always fooling with 
Dirck, and allowing him to express his silly 
fondness.” 

The listener heard Mrs. Seldon answer 
tremulously: ‘Hn pity’s name hush! Who- 
ever would have dreamed of such a thing? 
What Philip will think and say, and do, I dare 
not even guess.” 

‘‘He’ll think what most people of sense 
think, that it’s an outrage on decent society to 
keep that hulking half-wit about the house.” 

In another part of the room two fat dow- 
agers ambled in from an interview with the 
punch bowl. One said to the other : ‘ ‘ Did you 
ever see such a flirt as Katherine Vandoren is 
growing to be?” and the other answered; 


PAYING THE PIPER 


55 


‘^Well, I guess she comes honestly enough by 
the trait. Look at her mother there with al- 
ways a dozen or so men hanging round her 
and Flora Latham ^s been dancing all even- 
ing. 

‘‘Mrs. Vandoren always was gay. IFs a 
wonder she doesnT marry again. 

“Oh, my, that would cut o& her liberty.’^ 

“I didnT think of that. You know there 
was talk just after Vandoren ^s death, of a 
match between her and Rogers, but I guess he 
knew her too well.’^ 

“I guess so. The idea of her keeping her- 
self in the business all this time! It^s so un- 
feminine. IVe heard that the Finleys have 
wanted for a long time to oust her, but she 
sticks. ^ ^ 

“Well, you see, Rogers being a bachelor, and 
Mrs. Finlay, senior, being such a nonentity, 
why Mrs. Van. comes very near to being boss 
of the business. Now look at Mrs. Finley over 
there. She^s nothing but a shadow,’^ and the 
two turned their attention to a tall, elegant 
woman in silver gray velvet, who stood sur- 
rounded by a circle that seemed to be doing 
homage. She held a fan of the palest, rain- 
washed pink, and an aigrette of the same tint 
was in her abundant white hair ; strange to say, 
she was surrounded by young people, and she 
seemed to be the gayest of them all. 

“She makes the most of her bleached hair.’^ 

“Do you think iFs really bleached? She’s 
old.” 


56 PAYING THE PIPER 

There was a throaty chuckle that passed for 
a laugh. 

‘‘Bleached either by drugs, or the misbe- 
haviour of Jack, so where’s the difference?” 

“Oh, but you know Ethel says she doesn’t 
disapprove of Jack’s behaviour — thinks any- 
thing and everything that Jack does is right.” 

“Well, we know of one thing that Jack did, 
that she didn’t approve, and that was his mar- 
riage. Ethel’s pretty common stock, and 
was mighty lucky to get a Finley.” 

“Yes, I guess that’s right, but it’s a great 
mistake for a plain woman to marry a hand- 
some man.” 

“I wonder that Leigh Latham stands for the 
nonsense that his wife serves up to him.” 

“No doubt he gets even. These lean, dark 
men are always sly. But did you ever see any- 
thing like Philip and Genevieve? Why, she 
acts as if she was afraid to open her lips. No 
flirting for her, poor thing. They say he has 
a savage temper.” 

“Perhaps he has, but I must say he doesn’t 
look it. Seems to me they always act as if 
they’d just got through a good hard quarrel — 
not at all like the average young people.” 

“Yes, there’s something wrong there, with- 
out a doubt. I wonder if he drinks.” 

“I never heard he did, but his mother’s 
people are originally from the South, and I 
guess all southerners drink.” 

So the two cronies canvassed their host and 
hostess and all their friends. The faults they 
were not certain of they magnified in their 


PAYING THE PIPEE 


57 


imaginations so as to make them seem more 
real. By and by they went and shook hands 
with Philip and Genevieve, and told them what 
a charming evening they had had, how lovely 
everything and everybody was, and what a 
great thing it was for New York, that they 
had come home. 


CHAPTER VII 


The wind came sweeping across the river as 
if forced on its way by the rough, bleak pali- 
sades along the Jersey shore. The water was 
lead-colored excepting where it was blown into 
waves topped with white caps. A flock of gulls 
wheeled and circled and swooped, now dip- 
ping into the water, now as if in caprice, flut- 
tering around the tall somber smoke stacks of 
the two big buff war vessels that lay rocking 
in the stream. There were few steamers still 
plying up and down, and they seemed to find 
some difficulty in working against wind and 
tide. Their progress was slow. Huge black 
coal barges lay like inert masses, darker 
blotches on the dark water. 

A house boat was coming from somewhere 
far up the stream where the summer had been 
passed. The great river was not a pleasant 
sight on this windy, cloudy November day. 

This was Mrs. Rudolph ^s impression, and 
she said, as she met Mrs. Starr and Mrs. Van- 
doren in her cheerful parlor, where an open 
wood fire was blazing: ‘‘No doubt I shall 
grow accustomed to it, but,^’ and she glanced 
smilingly at her husband, “now it is melan- 
58 


PAYING THE PIPER 59 

choly beyond expressing. Still there are many 
redeeming features.^’ 

think I understand your feeling/’ Mrs. 
Vandoren answered. ‘‘Perhaps this season of 
the year is not favorable for the beginning of 
a residence on the Drive. You see I came in 
June.” 

“Only last June?” Louise asked. 

“Oh, my dear, no,” and Mrs. Vandoren 
laughed : “It was J une over thirty years ago, 
just after my marriage.” 

“And you’ve lived here ever since?” 

“Ever since, in the same house. I’ve seen 
many changes in my surroundings, but the 
river, though the life of it has changed, too, is 
always interesting to me. It’s like the face of 
an old friend.” 

“I think I shall grow to like it, but the 
weather has been cloudy nearly everyday since 
we came home.” 

“Yes, November is rarely a pleasant month 
in this latitude, and probably this year it has 
been exceptionally disagreeable. We’ve been 
so busy ever since the middle of August when 
my son and his family arrived from San Fran- 
cisco, I confess I’ve not given much attention 
to the weather.” 

“We’ve been busy, too— had a great deal of 
going out to do,” and Mrs. Rudolph laughed; 
“perhaps that is one reason why I’ve noticed 
the weather.” 

“Perhaps! I hope after you’re really set- 
tled that you’ll like the house and the neighbor- 
hood.” 


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PAYING THE PIPER 


^^Oh, yes, I’m very sure we’ll like it,” Mr. 
Rudolph answered heartily. ‘‘We’ll all like it 
very much. The fact is, we’ve lived abroad 
too much. We must settle down now, and be 
good, loyal Americans.” 

“You’re a born American, are you not, Mr. 
Rudolph?” Mrs. Starr asked. 

‘ ‘ Oh, yes, and so was my father. My grand- 
father was of German birth. He went into 
speculation in Baltimore, married an English 
girl, — and, never went home.” 

Mrs. Starr leaned forward eagerly: “Your 
grandfather’s name was Oscar, and he mar- 
ried Jacqueline Landon?” 

“Yes, yes, both names, and, there are still 
legends afloat of the great beauty of Miss Lan- 
don; She died about three years after her 
marriage, from injuries received by the run- 
ning away of her horses in Baltimore.” 

“I remember,” and Mrs. Starr’s cheeks 
glowed quite pink. 

“Is it possible!” and Mr. Rudolph moved 
his chair close beside her and clasped her hand. 
“Is it possible we are old acquaintances? It 
really can’t be so — why, Mrs. Starr, how old 
are you?” 

Mrs. Rudolph laughed, and pulled her hus- 
band’s sleeve. 

“My dear, what an impertinence!” 

“Never mind for this once, Mrs. Starr. Tell 
me. ’ ’ 

“I was eighty-six last June. If Jacqueline 
Landon and the Oscar Rudolph whom I knew, 
and she married, were living they would be 


61 


PAYING THE PIPER 

perhaps twelve and fifteen or eighteen years 
older. Really, a hundred years doesnT seem 
so very long.’’ 

‘‘Now this is wonderful. It’s beautiful; wait 
a minute,” and Mr. Rudolph left the room, 
while Mrs. Rudolph and her daughter won- 
dered and exclaimed. 

Mrs. Vandoren said: “My aunt was at- 
tracted by Mr. Rudolph’s name the first time 
she heard it, thinking he might be a descend- 
ant of the Oscar Rudolph she had known in 
Baltimore.” 

Mr. Rudolph came in carrying a large hook 
with heavy bronze clasps. He drew a small 
table close to Mrs. Starr and opened the book 
upon it. It proved to be a family record. 
“Here it is, in imperishable ink, a record of 
the marriage of Oscar Rudolph and Jacqueline 
Landon. Here, something over a year later is 
the name of their son. He was named Oscar, 
and that Oscar was my father.” 

On still another page, the death of Jacque- 
line Landon, beloved wife of Oscar Rudolph, 
was noted. On the same page there was a 
paragraph stating that Oscar Rudolph had 
gone into the West, and some few years after 
the death of his wife, he was killed in a fight 
with Indians. “I don’t know,” said Mr. Ru- 
dolph, “if it was discovered to a certainty just 
where my grandfather was killed. In those 
early days we did not have the means of com- 
munication that we have now.” 

“So Jacqueline Landon ’s son was your fa- 
ther!” Mrs. Starr said. 


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PAYING THE PIPER 


^‘Yes, IVe been familiar with the old ceme- 
tery where she’s buried since my earliest recol- 
lection. This burial ground used to belong 
to the Rudolph property, but it is now in a sub- 
urb of Baltimore. I’ve been at some pains to 
keep the place in repair, and, by the way, 
dear,” turning to his wife, ^‘we must go there 
sometime soon and see to it. We’ve been 
away so Tong, and one never knows how work 
is done when the employer is not by.” 

^^Now don’t worry. I’m sure Uncle Rufus 
has taken care of everything. You know our 
colored people are not like white servants.” 

‘‘No, I know how faithful are our old uncles 
and aunties, but Rufe is quite old now. We 
really must make him a visit.” Turning to 
Mrs. Starr, “So you, too, are of southern 
birth?” 

“Yes, all my folks were Maryland and Vir- 
ginia people of German extraction. My maiden 
name was Wallberg. My cousin, Christian 
Wallberg, was at one time engaged to marry 
Jacqueline Landon. It’s a very sad story.” 

“Oh, Mrs. Starr, please tell it to us,” 
pleaded Louise. 

The man at the door announced callers, and 
Mrs. Starr said as she and Mrs. Vandoren 
rose to go, “Some other day, dear. Some time 
I’ll tell you and our Katherine at the same 
time. You’ll both be interested in the story 
of your great-grand parents.” 

When they reached home they found Kath- 
erine and Max just returned from a walk. 
“Gee whiz! but it’s a gale! Max exclaimed. 


PAYING THE PIPER 63 

Aunty, you should have seen Katty walking 
sidewise to keep the wind out of her face.^’ 

There ^s a wise old adage that says, ‘He who 
backs the wind faces his grave.’ ” 

“Now what’s the wisdom in that. Aunty? 
In some of these old saws one can see the sense 
and reason at once, but I can’t see it in this.” 

“I don’t know, Maxy, unless it is that it’s 
better to face disagreeable things than to turn 
one’s back on what can’t be helped, and must 
be endured anyway.” 

“Auntie, now listen to me,” and Katherine 
seated herself on the arm of Mrs. Starr’s chair. 
“If it comes to facing disagreeable things, 
then one would better face his grave than the 
wind. I’ll turn my back to the wind and face 
the grave always, making choice of the most 
horrid, that must be endured; and when the 
curtain ’s rung down for the last time, I ’ll walk 
into it with some show of dignity and self- 
respect. I don’t want to tumble in backwards, 

head down and feet up; Max!” and she 

broke into a laugh, ‘ ‘ remember when I fell out 
of the rowboat that way up in Fourth Lake?” 

“Oh, Sis! how I’ve regretted that I didn’t 
get a snap shot of you just as you went over.” 

“You made a drawing that must have been 
fairly good; I recognized my shoes ; but further 
than that I couldn’t pronounce upon the pic- 
ture. You know I was not in position to see 
the occurrence. ’ ’ 

Mrs. Seldon was announced. She came in 
breezily. 

“My dear folks, I’ve just come in to have a 


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small talk about last night. Plow lovely it all 
was with the exception of that great blundering 
Dirck. I was so mortified, and Genevieve! 
she’s crushed. I’ve just come from there. 
She was frightened, and embarrassed, and 
dear me, she was ready to perish. Have you 
seen her to-day?” 

‘‘No. Mother’ll be down in a minute. She 
and Aunt Dempsey have just come in from a 
call on the Rudolphs. We thought we’d let 
Genevieve have a little time alone before mak- 
ing our party call.” 

“Yes, of course, but you know one’s mother 
is ditferent; and I was so anxious to know 
what Philip had said about Dirck.” 

“Oh, Phil wouldn’t make a row,” and Max 
laughed, “couldn’t imagine Phil saying any- 
thing mean to a woman.” 

“No, but Dirck! Of course, he’s my own 
nephew, and he and Genevieve have always 
been very fond of each other, but to kiss and 
caress her as he did last night — why, I supp- 
osed Philip would be furious.” 

“And wasn’t he? Did he think it a joke on 
Genevieve?” Katherine asked. 

“He said not one word, either one way or 
the other. I do think he’s the most indifferent 
man I ever saw.” 

Mrs. Vandoren came in. “You were speak- 
ing of Dirck ’s behaviour last night?” 

“Yes, wasn’t it shocking?” 

Mrs. Vandoren smiled apologetically: “Cer- 
tainly, it was not pleasant. I felt very sorry 
for Genevieve, and I’m glad Philip has not 


PAYING THE PIPER 65 

been disagreeable about it. Of course she 
couldn’t help it, and of course Dirck: ” 

^‘Oh, I know we can say his behaviour was 
only cousinly, and Dirck ’s not as bright as 
some folks, but, I can’t understand Philip. 
He’s absolutely indifferent about Genevieve 
and the little girl.” 

‘^Perhaips not indifferent, only quiet.” 

‘‘He wasn’t so quiet before he married my 
girl; he was always eager and full of life. If 
I could guess at any reason for this change, 
but I can’t. His manner towards the child 
isn’t at all that of a young father for his little 
daughter, and it’s unnatural. It can’t be said 
he’s not fond of children, either. Look at the 
way he fondles Flora’s children. He never 
takes his eyes off the little girl.” 

Mrs. Vandoren sighed. “I know, there’s no 
use of saying I haven’t noticed it all. I’m 
afraid that Philip and Genevieve are not 
happy together; and it’s such k pity. They 
have everything in their surroundings to make 
them comfortable, and they were lovers for 
long enough to insure a fairly good under- 
standing of each other.” 

“I can’t account for it. He seems absolutely 
indifferent, and she, — well, sometimes I think 
that, for some reason she’s afraid of him. 
She seems scared, and watches him.” 

“She’s given you no hint?” 

“Not the least. I’ve talked to Mr. Seldon 
about it, but he sees nothing, and, man fashion, 
insists that it’s all my imagination; says I 
want them to act like a pair of simpletons in- 


66 PAYING THE PIPER ^ 

stead of sober, five-year-and-over married 
folks. Well, I can’t help it. I hope every- 
thing’ll turn out right. Katherine tells me 
you’ve been to call on the Rudolphs?” 

‘‘Yes, I went to-day to take Aunt Dempsey. 
We had exchanged calls sometime ago, but 
Aunt knew an Oscar Rudolph years ago in 
Maryland and she wanted to find out if this 
one might not be the same family.” 

“Indeed! and I suppose it turned out as 
such things most frequently do; that this one 
never heard of any branch of the family on 
this side of the water. ’ ’ 

“On the contrary, we found that our neigh- 
bor is a grandson of the Rudolph that Aunt 
know. Yes, there’s no doubt about it. Mr. 
Rudolph has the family record, and it’s quite 
interesting — more so for the reason that Mr. 
Rudolph’s grandmother, a Miss Landon, was 
engaged to marry my grandfather, Christian 
Wallberg, before she married Oscar Rudolph. 
Aunt Dempsey has promised to tell Katherine 
and Louise all about their great-grand- 
parents.” 

“Well it’s very nice to know of one’s for- 
bears. I’m very proud of mine. I remember 
all of my grand-parents. They were exceed- 
ingly fine people.” 

“Yes, no doubt,” and Mrs. Vandoren fairly 
shivered with fear, that Mrs. Seldon might 
hear Max quoting ’tis distance lands enchant- 
ment to the view. ’ But, if she heard him, she 
evidently supposed it apropos of nothing she 
had said. 


PAYING THE PIPER 


67 


Mrs. Vandoren continued: ^^From all I 
know of my own ancestors, they were decent 
people; never did anything disgraceful. 
There’s nothing to he especially proud of in 
that, but it’s good that there’s nothing to he 
ashamed of. I hope my own grand-children will 
never have any more to conceal in their be- 
havior. I think I’m much more concerned 
about them than I am about my grand-par- 
ents.” 

“Well, of course, if one has never been ac- 
customed to think of one’s family,” and Mrs. 
Seldon’s voice died away in a murmur as she 
rose to go. 

When Mrs. Vandoren returned to the parlor, 
Katherine came from her window seat in the 
living room. Then Max besought them: 
“What did Dirck do last night.” His mother 
and sister exchanged smiling glances; Mrs. 
Vandoren shook her head and frowned, and 
then he was told. The boy stood before the 
two, arms akimbo, feet wide apart ‘^^Now, 
wouldn’t that make a fellow believe in infant 
damnation. ’ ’ 

“Why Max! from his mother, and Kath- 
erine : 

“Whatever has that to do with Dirck ’s 
scandalous behaviour?” 

“Everything. Don’t you suppose, though 
Genevieve reports Phil as saying nothing, that 
he wasn’t mentally damning up and down and 
cross-barred? And isn’t Dirck a lot more of 
a kid than even ugly little Annetje? The 
small Lathams aren’t to be mentioned in the 


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same day with the aristocratic Mrs. Seldon’s 
nephew and grand-danghter. ’ ’ 

“Annetje’s my grand-danghter, too/’ and 
Mrs. Vandoren had a very merry twinkle in 
her eyes. 

s’pose weVe got to own her, hut, Aunt 
Dempsey’s right — the kid’s sorted out.” 

‘‘Well, never mind, we must make the best 
of it for Phil’s sake; but I want you to explain 
to me what you know of infant damnation. 
That’s a Presbyterian tenet, and you’ve never 
had any chance of knowing anything about it. ’ ’ 

“Oh, my forgetful mother! How long has 
it been, two, three or four years since we vis- 
ited at Grand-dad Wallberg’s. Wasn’t there 
always some sort of preacher loafing about 
there, getting three square meals each day and 
trying to convert his host ? Oh, but it was fun 
to hear the talk! Mr. Preacher in such dead 
earnest, firing out his little texts from his 
marked pocket bible, and grand-dad so cool 
and good-natured, answering him from 
memory. Not one of the gospel sharps ever 
suspected what he had up his sleeve. Big, tall 
Uncle Marcus said to grandmother that it re- 
minded him of when he was far out West one 
day he met a fresh tender-foot who went bear 
hunting with bird shot. You surely remember, 
mother, some of those preachers talked infant 
damnation till Uncle Marcus said the whole 
house smelt of brimstone.” 

“No doubt they did, if you remember it. 
You see, I had always been used to my father’s 


PAYING THE PIPER 69 

ways of entertaining preachers, so I didn’t 
notice anything specially.” 

‘‘Well now, Motherkins, I’d advise yon to sit 
very straight and take very particular notice, 
so that you can have a story to match Mrs. 
Seldon’s.” 

Mrs. Vandoren laughed. “Perhaps it would 
be as well,” and she sat smiling to herself, 
while Katherine and Max went across the hall 
and practised their duets. 

As she sat alone, Mrs. Vandoren wondered 
if she was lacking in consideration of high 
respectability, and was that the reason she 
never thought of vaunting her forbears. As 
she looked back over her youth, and even her 
childhood, it seemed there was no time when 
she had not taken a first place as her’s by 
right, wherever she happened to be. In the 
wide circle of their acquaintances that her 
father, as a scholarly man and something of 
a politician, had gathered about the family, it 
seemed now, as she remembered, they had al- 
ways been considered a bit beyond their neigh- 
bors, though there was nothing said about it. 
It was a sentiment, tacitly acknowledged; a 
self-evident fact. Her mother’s people, too, 
fine scholarly men, and tall, slender, low-voiced 
women, patrician in every respect. One in- 
stance she recalled. She could not have been 
more than ten years old. The shabby, un- 
painted wooden church that stood but a short 
eighth of a mile from her father’s house, was 
a partnership atfair amongst Methodists, Bap- 
tists and United Brethren. She and her broth- 


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ers and sisters attended the Sunday School 
because, as her father said to her mother: 
knowledge of the story of the Christian re- 
ligion is a part of a liberal education. Let 
them hear it from their teachers as other chil- 
dren do. We can supplement it at home, and 
revise the mistakes as they occur. Likewise 
the whole family attended Sunday services, no 
matter what might be the doctrine promul- 
gated from the little pulpit. So it came to 
pass that the preacher of whatever domina- 
tion, frequently found a welcome, and the treat 
of a lively argument in the liberal home of 
broad-browed, clear-eyed Christian Wallberg, 
who listened with such flattering attention to 
their preachments in the church. It happened 
one Sunday in mid-winter two brothers of Mrs. 
Wallberg, preachers, who lived forty miles 
away, were spending the week-end at Oakwood 
farm. They went with the family to the little 
church. It was a dull gray day. A heavy 
snow was on the ground, but the air was damp, 
and rain was expected. The congregation 
gathered and waited for the appearance of the 
preacher, whose day it was to hold service. 
Time was passing. The Otis family, with 
whom Brother Newman usually put up, came 
in, looking about as if they expected to see 
their pastor in his place. Then Brother Elder 
rose, and solemnly approached Brother Otis. 
There was a whispered conversation, then the 
two went to Mr. Wallberg, where he sat beside 
the brothers Umbarger. There was more whis- 
pering. Mrs. Vandoren smiled as she recalled 


PAYING THE PIPEE 71 

how she had noticed the difference between the 
personnel of her uncles and the two men who 
consulted them and her father. Tall, hand- 
some, intellectual in face, elegant, at least by 
comparison, in dress, polished in manner. 
Uncle Lyman, the elder, slightly gray, eyes of 
a pure blue and like a child’s in expression. 
Uncle Milton, a trifle taller, a bit more slender, 
eyes of blue gray with always a merry twinkle. 
The consultation was over within a few min- 
utes and the two uncles arose and ascended the 
three steps into the pulpit. So these two Uni- 
tarians were to minister to this little flock 
rather than have them go unfed. Mrs. Van- 
doren, unconsciously began to hum softly the 
tune of the old hymn that her two uncles had 
used to open the services that day. It was new 
to all there, but when she went home she found 
it in a collection of hjunns belonging to her 
mother. Now as she gazed out on the wind- 
swept Hudson, she sang softly: 

^^From every stormy wind that blows, 
From every swelling tide of woes. 

There is a calm, a sure retreat, 

’Tis found beneath the mercy seat.” 

Of the sermon she had no least remem- 
brance, but next morning, when she entered 
the school room a few minutes before time for 
calling to lessons, she wondered why the boys 
and girls stood aloof and stared at her. They 
looked just as they always did at any one of 
their number who had some special reason for 


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being set above tbe others. This morning she 
was at a loss to understand, until her cousin, 
round-faced Billy Wallberg, said jeeringly: 
‘ ‘ Millicent ^s stuck up now because she’s got 
two uncles who can preach,” and black-eyed 
Pete Hilt added: ‘‘They’re great gents, too, 
I guess.” 

At the noon recess when she went home she 
asked her mother if she was proud because 
her brothers were preachers, and she was an- 
swered: “No, I’m not proud because they’re 
preachers. I’m not proud of them at all, but 
I’m very glad they’re good men. That’s all. 
There’s nothing to be proud of because one’s 
people are good. Everybody ought to be 
good.” 


CHAPTER VIII 


Who could tell from what direction the wind 
came that morning, two days before Thanks- 
giving Day! The rain, too — how it beat 
against the windows that looked out over the 
river. The north windows were reeking and 
piazzas on the three sides of the house were 
flooded. There was that continual booming 
sound of wind and water, unlike the beating 
of the ocean surf, being sharper, more distinct, 
and without the lingering swash of the reced- 
ing waves. Sometimes it did not seem possible 
that this sound, like that of a gigantic maul, 
could be made by the river, turbulent as it 
was. 

Max came bumping into a side hall, the 
established wet weather entrance of the house, 
rain coat, hat and boots dripping. His mother 
exclaimed : 

‘‘You crazy child! Where have you beenP^ 

Almost breathless, he answered: “Down by 
the river. You know the Rudolphs have talked 
about this thumping sound we hear in windy 
weather, and theyVe wondered if it could pos- 
sibly be the water. Of course it is, ^ ’ and Max, 
divested of his wet weather outfit, stood, a 
head taller than his mother, bright-eyed, red- 
73 


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cheeked, glowing and eager, as handsome a 
boy as ever gladdened a mother ^s heart. Mrs. 
Vandoren, watching him, scarcely heard what 
he was saying. 

‘‘You see, Motherkins, they can’t tell from 
the house, nor even from the walks in the park, 
how the water strikes against the breakwater 
that protects the railroad. Now see, out in 
mid-stream how the white caps roll this way, 
and when you’re down by the shore, they’re 
much bigger, and, where the waves strike — 
well, I convinced, Gus, that that’s what makes 
the booming.” 

“But, Max, the idea of you going out in this 
storm to convince Gus of a self-evident fact!” 

“It didn’t seem to be evident to him, nor to 
the rest of the family, and, you see, we had 
to go when the wind was blowing; there’s no 
noise in fair weather. Oh, yes, and before I 
forget it, — Gus and Louise want to come 
to-day and visit Aunt Dempsey and hear her 
story ” 

“To-day! Louise! how can she come on a 
day like this ’ ’ 

“Ah, she won’t mind; I forgot to say she 
was down by the river, too, and her hood blew 
off, and down over her shoulders went that big 
mop of red hair,” Max laughed and clapped 
his hands. “Gus said,” ‘jolly good thing it’s 
yours, root and branch, or it would sail away,’ 
“and he rolled it up in a bundle and pulled 
her hood over it, but, listen, shall I telephone 
them to come!” 

“Certainly, if they’re hardy enough for the 


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PAYING THE PIPER 

venture, it’ll be pleasant to have them. We’ll 
be sure of a nice visit to-day, without inter- 
ruption. ’ ’ 

Aunt Dempsey was delighted with the pros- 
pect of telling the story of her cousin, whose 
disappointment and subsequent marriage with 
wealthy Kate Keifer she h^d often mentioned. 
Lately she had as often insi^ed that Katherine 
resembled her great-grandmother. 

The little company gathered in the large, 
warm-tinted room, just back of the stately 
parlors. The windows of this room looked to 
the south, and on this stormy day, the lace 
curtains were drawn, so that the storm gave 
the effect of a lead-colored world outside. An 
open wood fire was blazing cheerfully, and 
threw pleasant lights over the brown tones of 
the room, with here and there a touch of 
yellow of sofa pillow or picture frame that 
had the effect of gleams of sunshine. The 
room had never been dignified by calling it 
‘Hhe library,” though the walls were lined be- 
tween doors and windows with low book-cases, 
and there were several desks placed conveni- 
ently near the light by day, and supplied with 
shaded drop-lights for evening work. It was 
simply the living room; the place where each 
and every member of the family was at liberty 
to come and enjoy books, magazines, dailies, as 
well as the easy chairs, couches and desks. To 
complete the picture of home comfort, in one 
corner beside the fire-place, stood a tea-table 
and a cellarette. Nothing in the room was 
new, excepting lately published books. Every- 


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thing else, though not antique, was of the 
fashion of thirty years ago. Mrs. Vandoren 
did not find it necessary to brace up her claims 
to respectability by rummaging through al- 
leged antique shops and purchasing newly 
manufactured old style tables and chairs, and 
advertising them amongst her friends as heir- 
looms from the homes of her ancestors. 

Aunt Dempsey, tall, straight, slim, in her 
trailing gray silk, with bits of lace at neck and 
wrists, and a dainty cap, not so white as her 
abundant hair, came sweeping in. Louise de- 
clared to her mother, ‘‘stately as any duchess 
I ever saw.’’ 

What a delightful little party it was; and 
the pleasure was intensified in the assurance 
that the weather afforded security from inter- 
ruptions. 

“Isn’t it the strangest of all things,” Kath- 
erine said, “that our great-grandmothers 
should have known each other when they were 
girls, and now we have Aunt Dempsey to tell 
us all about it*?” 

“Now listen to me,” Max exclaimed, spring- 
ing from his chair, and striking an oratorical 
attitude on the hearth rug: “We’ve got some- 
thing here with us, that stumped the scientists. 
Darwin and Huxley and the rest of the old 
boys, hunted long, but died without the sight : 
Aunt Dempsey’s the connecting link.” 

How Gus Rudolph shouted and laughed : 
“Aunt Dempsey ought to box your ears.” 

“If our Maxy received punishment for all 
his impertinences, we’d be doing nothing else. 


PAYING THE PIPEE 


77 


through the longest days. I hope he’ll settle 
down by and by, and I think he will. His 
grandfather Wallberg was a great joker as a 
boy, and Max is very much like him.” 

^‘Auntie, if you could hear Grand-dad talk 
to the preachers you wouldn’t think he’s quit 
joking.” 

“Yes, I know, the Wallbergs were always 
quick-witted, and their marriages were never 
downward, not even my cousin’s when he 
wedded Kate Keifer.” 

“After having been betrothed to our great- 
grandmother Jacqueline Landon. Oh, Mrs. 
Starr, I’m so interested!” and Louise leaned 
forward and clasped her hands around her 
knees. 

“Well, my dear, you know I was an orphan 
and lived in my Uncle Christian Wallberg ’s 
house. He was my guardian. His children 
were older than I, and I was like a little sister 
to them. I remember, as if it had happened 
yesterday, better perhaps, the morning that 
my uncle and cousin Christian quarreled. It 
was about my cousin’s debts. He was wild, 
that could not be denied, and when he was 
four or five and twenty, he had had more than 
his own share of his father’s money, while his 
two sisters and young brother were still un- 
provided for. The older sister, Susan, was 
about to be married, and there was all the ex- 
pense of her trousseau, and her house and its 
furnishings. Uncle Christian never com- 
plained of anything of that kind. His money, 
he said was for his children, and he wanted to 


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make them comfortable with it, and give them 
a good position in society. It was in the midst 
of Susan ^s wedding preparations that some 
large bills of my cousin ^s were sent in. They 
arrived on this morning that I speak of in the 
mail. Uncle scowled as he broke one seal after 
another, then handed them across the table to 
his son. We were at breakfast. Christianas 
face paled, and his hand was not quite steady, 
but, with a great show of indifference he went 
over them, then handed them back to his 
father. Uncle scowled darker than ever, and 
striking the bills from Christian’s hand, he 
said, ^What did I tell you three months ago? 
Why are these bills sent to me?’ H remem- 
ber.’ Christian said airily, ‘you told me to keep 
out of debt, but, how is a fellow to do that 
when he has no money? I suppose those bills 
are sent to you because you are the capitalist 
of the family. ’ How that did anger his father. 
He brought his fist down on the table so 
heavily that every dish rang and danced. 
And then such a storm of words, and such a 
striding up and down the room. My aunt and 
the girls were crying and the last I heard 
Uncle say as Cousin John and I stole out of 
the room was: “Chris. Wallberg, I’ll pay 
these bills only to save you from jail, and from 
now on keep in mind, you get not another cent 
of my money. You’re robbing the rest of the 
family.” Afterwards everything went on as 
usual. The whole house was alive with prep- 
arations for Susan’s wedding. Christian was 
quiet and went out but little. He and his 


PAYING THE PIPER 79 

father were formally polite to each other. 
There was no more quarrelling. 

‘‘The wedding was a fine affair, and of all 
the beautiful, and richly dressed ladies, not 
one was handsomer than Jacqueline Landon. 
She was first brides-maid. She and Cousin 
Christian had been engaged for more than two 
years, but she was young and he was wild, and 
her parents were poor and prudent. They 
knew all about poverty, and though my uncle 
was counted a very wealthy man in houses, 
lands and slaves, still, they feared Christian’s 
extravagant habits. Jacqueline’s beauty might 
well be depended upon to secure for her a good 
match. So, they turned a deaf ear to my 
cousin’s importunities, and kept them from 
marrying. But, how happy they were to- 
gether. I watched them as they danced, laugh- 
ing and chatting constantly. My aunt watched 
them, too, and, though she smiled, I heard her 
say: ‘Ah, you poor things!’ By and by they 
left the dancers and sauntered into an alcove 
at the far end of the rooms. I, child fashion, 
had wandered about, and had seated myself in 
a sleepy hollow chair that stood in the door- 
way, half hidden by a portiere. The light in 
the alcove was dim, and the dancers had been 
coming and going all evening with their gay 
chat and merry laughter. Sometimes the place 
had been full of girls and their gallants and 
the fluttering of jewelled fans was like so many 
bright winged butterflies. But now there were 
none but Christian and Jacqueline. I heard 
their voices below the music without knowing 


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that I was listening. I had come to look upon 
my cousin as a very badly treated young man 
and I was glad to see him looking cheerful. At 
first they talked of all manner of things; the 
dresses, the last party and the next one, and of 
several coming weddings. Presently there was 
a pause. When Christian spoke I thought his 
voice was not quite natural. It was stiff, and 
a bit hoarse. ‘Do you think, Jack, that you 
can be happy as a poor man’s wife, — give up 
all such things as these?’ and he waved his 
hand toward the brilliant company. 

“Pretty Jacqueline laughed. ‘What non- 
sense are you talking, Chris?’ ‘Really, Jack,’ 
and my cousin was very serious, ‘if you love 
me we can be happy together no matter where 
or how we live; and I may as well tell you 
now, — you know I’ve been a bit extravagant,’ 
and he told her of his quarrel with his father 
and of many other things that I could neither 
understand nor remember. He was very 
white as he talked, and so was she, and child 
as I was, I could see that she drew herself 
away from him, and sat very straight on the 
high-backed sofa. She fanned herself lan- 
guidly and watched the dancers. When Chris- 
tian had talked, it seemed to me a long time 
and had not had one word of answer, he said : 
‘But, Jack, darling, what will we care for 
money? Love is better than money.’ 

She turned her bright dark eyes upon him 
with a little mocking laugh: “That’s all very 
well for you to say. You know nothing about 
it. You’ve always been rich, but I, well, you 


PAYING THE PIPEE 


81 


know I^m poor, always have been, and though 
love is a fine thing, I think you and I must dis- 
pense with it. It would be imprudent, to say 
the least, for us to think of marriage if you 
have had your share of your father’s money. 
We may as well drop all ideas of that sort, 
and each make a new start in the world. I’ll 
he the first to wish you good luck!” ‘Do you 
mean,’ and Christian leaned forward and 
raised his hand as if in protest, ‘Do you mean 
that you wish to break our engagements’ She 
laughed in his face. ‘I mean our engagement 
is broken.’ She drew a ring from her finger 
and held it towards him, as she rose from the 
sofa. He rose, too, but swung his hands be- 
hind him, looking at her in silence, and so 
white, so like a dead man. ‘Take your ring, 
Christian. Love is sweet, but it is a luxury for 
the rich. You and I must each marry money.’ 
‘Oh, Jacqueline!’ She laughed again but her 
gleaming teeth were not whiter than her face. 
‘Oh, Jacqueline!’ and my cousin moaned as if 
in bodily pain. ‘Christian,’ she said, ‘don’t be 
foolish. You’ve done this yourself. I shall 
make the best of it that I possibly can,’ and 
turning towards the dancers, ‘I think I shall 
marry that enterprising German fellow, Oscar 
Eudolph. ’ 

August and Louise had both listened in- 
tently, but now, at the naming of their own an- 
cestor, both started. “My cousin only sighed 
again; ‘Oh, Jacqueline!’ and she, with another 
hard little laugh, ‘Perhaps you’d better make 
up to farmer Kiefer’s Kate!’ Afterwards I 


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knew the sting she meant to give, and did give 
in these words. She left him, and within a few 
minutes was waltzing with young Rudolph. 
Christian stood still for some time watching 
her, then, staggering like a drunken man, he 
made his way to the dining-room. I followed 
him. He stopped just inside the door, and 
stood staring at the decanters on the sideI)oard 
for a minute, then, with a moan, he sank into 
a chair. I went to him, and passed my hand 
over his hair. He looked up quickly: ‘Only 
little Dempsey,’ he said, and, after a pause: 
‘Little cousin, get me a glass of wine. I’m 
ill — ill enough to die!’ I pushed a little table 
in front of him, and put upon it a decanter and 
a glass. He filled the glass time and again, 
and drank, and I think if his mother had not 
come in he’d have killed himself that night. 
What I had given him for wine, was high proof 
brandy. ’ ’ 

“What a sad time it was for the next few 
weeks. Susan was away on her wedding trip, 
and the house was comparatively quiet after 
all the bustle of getting her married in such 
fine style. And how my cousin did drink! 
And how he walked up and down the stairs 
and all over the house whenever he was not 
asleep or too stupidly drunk to move. After 
four or five weeks of this work, there was the 
usual happening; and all through his delirium 
he seemed to see only Jacqueline, and he con- 
tinually besought her to name their wedding 
day. ’ ’ 

Max declaimed softly close to August’s ear, 


PAYING THE PIPER 


83 


fool there was, and he made a prayer, even 
as your great-grandfather and mine,’^ and 
August said very seriously, “Mrs. Vandoren, 
haven T you a muzzle for this irreverent boy? 
— oh, that’s it, there amongst the cups. 
Louise, pass me the cozy to shut him off.” 

“Hush, Max, dear,” his mother said, and he 
could see that her eyes were swimming. He 
left his place by August, pushed an ottoman 
close to his mother, and sat on it, leaning his 
curly head against her knees. 

“Go on, auntie, please,” Katherine whis- 
pered, and Louise, clasping her hands against 
her face, added : 

“Yes, please do.” 

“When Cousin Christian was so far recov- 
ered as to be able to see friends, the first news 
that a blundering one brought was that prep- 
arations were being made for the marriage of 
Jacqueline Landon and Oscar Rudolph. 
Christian said not a word one way or another, 
but after the caller had gone, he said to his 
mother: ^Jack advised me to marry Kate 
Kiefer, and, I think I’ll try for it.’ ^ Dutch 
Kate ! ’ almost screamed Lettice, now the young 
lady of the house. Christian said nothing, and 
his mother only glanced at him in her pitying 
way, and sighed. Then Lettice, impertinent 
minx that she was, kept on: ‘Perhaps you’d 
better do that, Chris. You’d get back the farm 
that father sold to old Kiefer to pay your 
debts.’ Her mother ordered her out of the 
room, and Christian, without even turning his 
head, said: ‘Oh, where’s the use, mother? As 


84 PAYING THE PIPER 

Jack said:- IVe done tlie mischief myself, and 
Idl make the best I can of it. DonT worry. 
I’m not worth all the trouble I’ve given yoii.’ 
Aunt only smoothed his hair away from his 
pale forehead, saying: ‘Poor Chris, my dear 
boy!’ ” 

“Kate Kiefer was the only child of a 
wealthy German farmer — really the wealthiest 
man in the whole county, but, as you say 
nowadays, they were not in society. They 
lived well in their big stone house, with its 
wide, low-roofed porches and its broad chim- 
nies. Our house seemed to grow gloomier 
every day. It was rare to see my aunt without 
tears in her eyes and she was soothing and 
gentle with Christian as if he had been a little 
child. Lettice went about the house on her 
high heels, flashing her gay ribbons, and on 
the slightest pretext throwing out sneering re- 
marks about Dutch Kate in Christian’s hear- 
ing. My uncle was calm and sedate as usual. 
It was the rarest thing for him to show temper, 
or allow himself to become excited. When 
Lettice tossed her head and sneered at Kate 
Kiefer he pretended to neither see nor hear 
her. At last, I found out what it all meant. I 
went with the family one bright wintry day 
and saw Christian and Kate married. It was 
not such a wedding as Susan’s had been, 
though the farm house was fine enough in its 
way and cheerful with its big open fires, plenty 
of servants, and a great profusion of food and 
drink. 

“But there was constraint amongst the 


PAYING THE PIPES 


85 


guests ; they were stiff and formal. The bride- 
groom was pale as the dead and almost as 
quiet. Kate was splendid as satin and jewels 
could make her, but she seemed ill at ease with 
Christian and his people. I have often thought 
since, what a strange wooing it must have 
been. ’ ’ 

Within a few weeks Jacqueline and Oscar 
were married, and Christian, with his bashful 
wife in her stiff brocade and beautiful diam- 
onds went to the wedding. Jacqueline had 
been kept from their ^s by a sprained ankle — so 
they said. There followed a round of parties, 
balls and receptions. Then Susan came home, 
and must give her share of entertainments in 
her new home, and I often heard remarks 
about poor Kate, and how out of place she was. 
But she went out with Christian because he 
said she must, and she did the best she could, 
poor thing. They gave parties, too, and din- 
ners and teas, and sometimes when she failed as 
a society woman, or made blunders in her part 
as hostess, Christian was neither considerate 
nor kindly. Lettice saw this, and Susan, too, 
and many were the spiteful things they said, 
not always unheard by Dutch Kate. Between 
times Christian drank excessively, and alto- 
gether, the new ruler in the Kiefer farm house 
was not an unparallelled blessing. Mr. Kiefer 
would pull down his shaggy eyebrows, while 
he blew great clouds of smoke from his costly 
meerschaum, and grasped his mug of apple 
brandy fiercely and tell his son-in-law: ‘‘Mein 
Gaty woult better gone det as mairiet mit 


86 


PAYING THE PIPER 


you.’’ Kate’s mother had died at her birth, 
and her nurse Gretchen, who had come from 
Germany with some older Kiefers, was all the 
mother she had ever known, and she was very 
old. She’d go about the house clicking her 
pattens and her cane up and down the wide 
halls, and watching always. She saw how mis- 
erably everything was going and how un- 
happy her nurseling was, and she’d shake her 
head and mutter, ^ Ach mein kind! mem Gott 
in Himmelj mein kind I ^ 

^‘At the end of a year when a boy baby 
came there was a great change. Christian be- 
haved much better. His manner towards 
Kate grew to be, if not loving, at least, kindly 
thoughtful, and he interested himself in the 
management of Mr. Kiefer’s large property. 
Though he made no pretense of loving his wife, 
yet his behaviour said plainly that he kept in 
mind the fact that she was his son’s mother. 
The wife of a Wallberg might be open to criti- 
cism, but the mother of a Wallberg should be 
treated with respect. 

His change of manner toward Kate made it- 
self very apparent when his sisters were by, 
and their conduct soon came to take the tone 
of his. I must say for Aunt Wallberg that she 
was always kind to Kate, and whenever they 
met she made it plain that no slight to Chris- 
tian’s wife would be tolerated by her mother- 
in-law. I think the two grew to love each 
other very much. My uncle, too, was always 
on the best of terms with Kate, and the cool- 
ness that had been between him and Christian 


PAYING THE PIPER 


87 


quite disappeared. The baby was a fine child 
and my uncle was never done praising his first 
grand-son, another Christian.’’ 

‘‘That’s my father,” Mrs. Vandoren said 
softly. 

“Oh! oh! My grand-dad who snubs the 
preachers is Dutch Kate’s son. Well, I’ll bet 
Dutch Kate was all right. You may be glad 
you look like her, Kitty Van.” 

“Of course, Maxy, she was all right. She 
was a good, faithful, patient wife, and an ex- 
cellent mother. A few months later Jacque- 
line Rudolph’s son was born, but she seemed 
to have no kindly womanly feelings. The baby 
was a handsome, healthy child, but she seemed 
to care nothing for it. She professed to be 
much disappointed, first that it was a boy in- 
stead of a girl, then that it resembled the Ru- 
dolphs instead of her own people.” 

“Say, August,” Max interrupted, “if the 
baby looked like Miss Louise it must have been 
a prize beauty.” 

Louise blushed, rose from her chair and 
made an elaborate courtesy. “I’ll ask father 
if I look at all like my grandfather.” 

“You don’t, I can tell you now,” her brother 
said, “not with that sunset wig. You get that 
from the Oirish loidy grandmother on the 
other side of the house.” 

“It came to be known,” Mrs. Starr resumed, 
“that Jacqueline was habitually peevish and 
fault-finding. The two were very unhappy. 
She was never satisfied excepting when dres- 
sing and going about and being admired. 


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PAYING THE PIPEB 


There was a great deal of talk, and a great 
deal of sympathy for her husband. He fairly 
worshiped her for her beauty and her wit. 
IVe seen him watch her sometimes with the 
saddest longing look in his eyes, but if he of- 
fered any little endearment, how scornfully 
she^d say: ‘Eeally, Mr. Eudolph, your be- 
haviour is insufferably childish.’ Sometimes 
she’d leave the room. No other child came, 
and it was a good thing. I’ve heard my aunt 
say, H’ve seen more maternal instinct going 
about on four feet than Jacqueline Eudolph 
has.’ The little boy lived mostly with Mrs. 
Landon. A pretty brood of children grew up 
in the Kiefer farm house, and Cousin Christian 
came to have profound respect for his wife. 
If he regretted his lost love, he gave no sign. 

‘‘Jacqueline was thrown from her carriage 
one morning when returning from a ball. Her 
husband was in Washington at the time, and 
she had gone alone. He came home as soon 
as he possibly could after hearing by special 
messenger of the accident. Jacqueline didn’t 
know him. Her head was injured in a way 
that made her delirious. I was there, helping 
Mrs. Landon. Aunty was laid up with neu- 
ralgia. There was a great deal of sickness 
about that fall. I hope I may never see again 
such suffering on the face of any human crea- 
ture, as I saw on that of Oscar Eudolph as he 
stood by his dying wife, and listened to her 
ravings. It was all about Christian. She’d 
hold out her hands and whisper, ‘ Come, Chris- 
tian, come, let us go away together. What do 


PAYING THE PIPER 


89 


we care for money ! Oh how I hate that Ger- 
man dolt!’ Then she’d tear at heft wedding 
ring, and cry ^ Take it off, Chris, take it off!’ 
and her slim white fingers were all bleeding. 
Then she’d ask, ^Where’s the ring yon gave 
me? I left it on the table. Oh, Chris, yon 
never gave it to Kate, did yon? it was my 
ring!’ And that poor man, half mad, he must 
have been, wonld try to soothe her, bnt she 
seemed to know his tonch even in her delirium, 
and pnshed him away. 

‘‘For three days this went on, excepting 
when she was qnieted with opiates, then she 
died. The little boy was left with the Lan- 
dons. Oscar wandered away with a party of 
specnlators, and as we saw by the records the 
other day, he perished somewhere in the West. 

“Now, this is a very sad story, bnt, see, after 
all these years, there are happy homes for the 
descendants of those two ill-assorted mar- 
riages.” 

“Mrs. Starr,” Angnst said as he saw the 
story was finished, “do yon think it wonld 
have been better for yonr consin and Miss 
Landon to have married in spite of his spend- 
thrift habits?” 

“Now, I’m snre I can’t say, Mr. Angnst, 
I’m afraid she wonld not have been happy 
withont society and plenty of money. Some 
women are made that way.” 

“Then it’s a bit nnfortnnate for men and 
women to love each other nnder nnfavorable 
circnmstances ? ’ ’ 

“My dear boy, there are snrely many sane 


90 


PAYING THE PIPER 


and healthful loves in the world, but many 
others are not. 

‘‘Well, then, it seems that it is up to each 
one of us, to make the acquaintance of our- 
selves, and, as the immortal man of Avon puts 
it, ‘To thine own self be true.’ ” 

“Yes, there’s no better rule, and it often 
requires a great amount of courage to be true 
to oneself.” 

“Oh, I say. Aunty,” and Max stood facing 
Mrs. Starr, “does our Kate really look like 
Kate Kiefer? Stand up here, Kathleen May,-, 
oureen,” and he pulled his sister up beside 
him, “Now look; does she?” 

There was much laughing as Katherine hung 
heavily on the arm of her brother, and pulled 
his hair. Mrs. Starr said, “Yes, I’ve always 
said she did. Of course our Katherine is 
Americanized. She’s slim — Kate Kiefer was 
more robust in figure, though never unbecom- 
ingly stout. Yes, of all the Katherines, there 
have been in the family, our own is more like 
the first one.” 

Max seized his sister in his arms and whirled 
her away up the rooms, into the parlor, down 
through the hall and back again in a mad 
waltz, singing at the top of his voice: “Yoho, 
mine leedle Gaty, mine Gaty, mine Gaty, mine 
Gaty; Yoho mine leedle Gaty, mine klein 
Deutsche Kate.” 

August seized him as he was about to start 
on a second round, and took Katherine away. 

“Look here^ you young savage! What shall 


PAYING THE PIPER 91 

I do with him, Mrs. Vandoren? Look at Miss 
Katherine, all out of breath.’’ 

Kate, flushed, panting, and laughing, was 
putting her fallen hair in order. Her mother 
said; ‘H’ll leave him to you. Mr. Rudolph; 
your great-grandfather was an Indian fighter. 
Perhaps you’ve inherited some cunning in 
dealing with savages. But, here comes Chris- 
tine with tea. Sit down now, and we’ll discuss 
over the cups some plans to civilize our Max.” 


CHAPTER IX 


Thanksgiving Day came in cloudless and 
frosty. The great river was dazzling in the 
sunshine and the two big buff war vessels lying 
out in the stream looked clean and fresh as the 
blue jackets hurried about hanging up their 
freshly washed clothes. Smaller craft floated 
about, some as if with no intent but to pass the 
day in the sun; others going up or down in 
very businesslike fashion with the appearance 
of keeping in mind the nearness of freezing 
when their work must suspend for weeks. 

In the Vandoren house there were evidences 
of coming festivities. From her southern-bred 
ancestors, Mrs. Vandoren had inherited a clan- 
nishness that would not be subdued into form- 
ality. She liked family reunions, daytime 
dinners where young and old and little children 
were brought together. On this day when Max 
had been told that the dinner would be at one 
o’clock so that the Latham children and An- 
net je could be with them, he went about sing- 
ing: 

“Old men and babes and loving friends.” 

The Seldons were to come. Mrs. Vandoren 
said it had been so long since Philip and Gen- 
evieve had been at home for any anniversary, 
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PAYING THE PIPER 


93 


the two families would have a complete re- 
union. Katherine raised the question of Dirck 
Johnson, and her mother said very emphati- 
cally, ‘‘Dirck, most assuredly not. Mr. and 
Mrs. Seldon, Barbara and Janson comprise the 
family as far as any invitation of mine goes. 
Dirck is never at Mrs. Seldon ^s table when she 
has company.’’ 

“I wish we could have the Rudolph’s,” 
Katherine said. 

“Not this time. This is a family affair. 
But, very soon, almost any time, we’ll invite 
the whole family. They are delightful peo- 
ple.” 

“I say, Katy Kiefer, it seems to me it 
would make Aunty’s story complete if you and 
August should marry. What do you think?” 

“Well, of all things!” and Katherine 
laughed, “but August dances divinely!” 

“So does Louise; and, oh, that hair of hers! 
Isn’t it the glory; I wish I was^ several years 
older.” 

“Silly boy!” said his mother. “Not satis- 
fied with planning for Katherine’s future, but 
must talk of something for yourself, that, at 
the very nearest, I hope is ten or a dozen 
years away.” 

“I know it’s a long look ahead, but we’re 
not the sort of folks who take no thought for 
the morrow. Both of the Rudolphs are so nice 
and good-looking, I don’t like the idea of los- 
ing them. Now say, Kate, if August asks you 
to marry, won’t you — cinch him?” 


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‘^No, I won’t. I’m going to wait to see 
Phil’s medical friend, Alex. Graeme.” 

‘^Yon deluded maid! he’s old enough to be 
your father.” 

‘‘Indeed he isn’t; he’s about Phil’s age. 
They were in Princeton together, and it was 
largely because of Dr. Graeme that Phil 
wanted to go to San Francisco, wasn’t it, 
mother ! ’ ’ 

“Yes, I think so; but you’ve both seen Alex, 
several times.” Don’t you remember, he 
spent Christmas with us just before the two 
graduated? It’s quite ten years ago, the last 
holiday season we had your father with us.” 

“Yes, I guess I do remember, but Phil al- 
ways had some of the boys for vacations, and 
you see, ten years ago I was only ten ” 

“And not as flirtatious as you are now ” 

“Never mind, little brother, who’s encour- 
aging flirtations now, I wonder.” 

“Not I, I want you to be in dead earnest.” 

“Very well, since Alex, isn’t married, and 
Phil’s so fond of him, I’m going to wait till I 
see him before I join in your scheme to entrap 
August, poor boy.” 

“When do you expect to see Dr. Graeme?” 

“Have no idea,” but, ‘Serene I fold my 
hands and wait.’ ” 

By noon the company had arrived, and the 
stairway was a thoroughfare for continual 
passing up and down, and there was no end of 
talking, laughing and high good humor. Mrs. 
Vandoran, taking notes of her guests, decided 
that with the exception of Annetje, the com- 


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PAYING THE PIPES 

pany was fairly good-looking, and, with one 
or two other exceptions, unusually bright and 
intellectual. Mr. Seldon looked the lawyer to 
perfection, but, when this had been said some 
time before in Max’s hearing he wondered 
why people so often looked like what they 
were not. His mother insisted that while Mr. 
Seldon would never be a great lawyer, still he 
was a reliable business and consulting lawyer, 
and he looked it. His son, Jansen, was quite 
like his mother, inclined to showiness and a bit 
sensational, and even now, though only in the 
upper twenties, showing something more of 
stoutness than was necessary as a guaranty of 
health. But, he was heeding the signs of 
warning. What with systematic exercise, cold 
baths, strict control of his appetite, he was not 
likely to add to his weight until he grew old 
and sluggish. Barbara was like her father in 
person and character, plain, unpretentious and 
reliable. Genevieve seemed to be a bit 
of a mixture of both, but with something more 
of the showiness of her mother. 

Flora Latham, in her plain dark blue silk 
gown, looked very girlish, but she had pretty 
matronly airs when her children were about 
her, little Phil, so much like his father, and 
four-year-old Melicent named for her grand- 
mother. Mrs. Vandoren contrasted this young 
family with that other one — Philip, Genevieve 
and Annetje. The more their friends saw of 
these latter, the more they wondered. There 
were no open quarrels, no sharp words, noth- 
ing in the manners of the two but the most 


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chilling indifference on the part of the hus- 
band, and a sort of cringing defiance on that 
of the wife. Philip seemed to avoid touching 
Genevieve, even in the most casual way, and 
to the little girl, he gave no more attention 
than if she was not by. She rarely spoke to 
him, and when she did, her lisping, bashful 
^‘Misteh Van,^’ was pathetic. 

Melicent Latham, taking her cue from her 
cousin, romped up to her father and called out : 

Hello, Mista Laffam, how do, Mista 
LaffamP’ 

The answer she received was something 
quite out of the experience of Annetje. She 
was seized, caressed, shaken, and at last, with 
her tumbled finery, folded in her father’s 
arms. He looked down into her eyes, saying: 
‘H’m quite well, thank you. Miss Lat’am, how 
are you? and how’s your father! You little 
villain ! ” 

‘‘My father’s gone away. I just got Mista 
Lat’am like Annie got Mista Van.” 

Philip watched this pretty play with clouded 
eyes, and his mother wondered what his 
thoughts were. Genevieve watching, too, 
turned white, and took Annetje on her knees, 
and leaned her face on the child’s hair. 

The dinner was over, and the brightness of 
the morning had disappeared. There was a 
bank of dark clouds in the west that brought 
out all the gloom of the ragged, precipitous 
Jersey shore. The wind was rising, and the 
river was growing rough, and taking on a 
muddy red tinge from the setting sun that 


PAYING THE PIPEE 97 

hung like a great crimson hall above the dark 
clouds, bleak palisades and sullen water. 

Mrs. Seldon had gone up stairs saying some- 
thing about a new organization of women that 
she was assisting to form. She came into the 
room again unfolding a long sheet of paper. 
She sat down by her hostess. ^‘Now, you see, 
Mrs. Vandoren, what a fine list of names I 
have. Every one is that of a woman of rec- 
ognized ability and character, and every one is 
a conscientious worker along the lines that 
tend towards the betterment of working 
women and those who are — well, not working.’’ 

‘‘Yes, I see — this is your constitution, is it?” 

“Yes, you see what our object is, — to help 
those who have fallen and grown hopeless — to 
encourage them to find a better way of life and 
live honestly.” 

“Yes,” and Mrs. Vandoren looked down the 
list of names, “I think I know the most of 
these women, either personally, or by reputa- 
tion. ’ ’ 

“I was sure you would, and I am sure, too 
that you will approve of our object.” 

“Oh, surely. No doubt the object is a 
worthy one. Any one who tries to help women, 
or men, who need help, and will not abuse gen- 
erosity, is doing good service. But, the ques- 
tion is, how low must a woman fall before she 
is eligible to receive your assistance?” 

“Dear me, we don’t expect to go into details 
like that. Only to know that one is not living 
right is enough.” 

^ “Yes, to know; to see one living wrong with- 


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PAYING THE PIPER 


out any least attempt to disguise the fact; but 
ho., will you approach the quiet ones, who, if 
suspected, flaunt their supposed tainted re- 
spectability in our faces and ’’ 

Genevieve interrupted angrily; ‘‘Mother, 
why do you bother about things of that sort! 
Better toss that paper into the fire. Here, give 
it to me. Mama Vandoren doesnT want to 
have anything to do with it,’^ and she held out 
her hand, but Mrs. Vandoren passed the paper 
to Mrs. Seldon, who put on her glasses, and 
stared at her daughter, who had risen from 
her chair and stood white and trembling, 
reaching for the paper. 

“Genevieve, what do you mean! Have you 
no feeling for the unfoitunate! Have you 
grown up into a heartless woman through hav- 
ing always been shielded from wickedness and 
want. You have much to learn.’’ 

Barely above a whisper, Philip said, “Sit 
down, Genevieve,” and she obeyed, it seemed 
to her mother-in-law, the eyes rather than the 
voice of her husband. But she rose again al- 
most immediately and walked the length of 
the parlors, to sit by a window that looked out 
on the stormy sunset. Mrs. Vandoren again 
took up the subject of the new “Help for the 
Friendless” club. 

“Since my experience last winter with try- 
ing to defend a woman who, I am sure was 
persecuted and slandered into her grave, I 
confess I have not much faith in the charity of 
the average woman for her sex.” 


PAYING THE PIPEE 99 

‘‘You mean that poor little freak who lived 
and died in your apartment house ? ^ ’ 

“Yes — no matter what name she was known 
by, nor what was her real name, you know, 
and I know, since her death, and her family 
record has been made public, that she was 
more or less irresponsible.^’ 

“Still, don’t you believe she was an immoral 
woman 1 ’ ’ 

“No, I do not. In a case like hers, circum- 
stantial evidence is reliable, and, it was all in 
her favor. She was young, handsome, edu- 
cated, cultured, attractive in speech and man- 
ner. If she had been an immoral woman she 
wouldn’t have been in the financial straits in 
which we found her after it was too late to 
help her.” 

“It cannot be denied that she lived in a very 
expensive apartment for a woman without re- 
sources.” 

“She was a business woman, and she was 
subject to the fluctuations of the markets just 
as business men are. You know what a flurry 
there was amongst the banks a year ago. For 
the last two months of her life this unfortun- 
ate tenant of mine paid her rent by mortgag- 
ing her household goods, and pawning her 
jewels. If I had known — but, though I saw 
her frequently she gave me no least hint of 
the real state of her affairs.” 

“Yes, freak as she was, and an unmitigated 
little fakir, she died game,” said Latham. 

“Did you happen to see anything of Sam 
Belden at about that time?” Jansen asked. 


100 PAYING THE PIPEE 

‘‘Yes, I did, and a more complete wreck of 
a man, and a sober man at that, I hope I may 
never see again. Sam was madly in love with 
her, but she had her net spread for bigger 
game. ’ ’ 

“Who was the other one!’’ Philip asked, 
“some man that yon, Leigh, mentioned as be- 
ing ready to marry her if she only would.” 

“John Stapleton; as good a fellow as ever 
lived, but he had no money. She meant, if 
she married, to secure money and position.” 

“Of course,” Mrs. Seldon remarked loftily, 
“there’s no real disgrace in that, but, to a 
woman of absolute purity, there’s something 
very revolting in marrying for money.” 

“Now, really,” and Mrs. Vandoren laughed, 
“when we see, on every hand, wrecks of love 
matches, I think I’m not inclined to blame a 
woman for prudence in making a second choice. 
This woman was up in the thirties, had drawn 
one blank, and she possessed a certain amount 
of wisdom. Then, you see, there are plenty of 
men with money and position who are of a 
very decent sort. But, that is not the question 
we are to consider; and Mrs. Vandoren again 
turned her attention to the list of names that 
she had taken from Mrs. Seldon ’s hands. 

“I see a number of names here of women 
who, when this suspect of mine was being con- 
demned without a hearing, were very active in 
the persecution, not only of the suspect, but 
of any other woman who might in any least 
instance try to defend her. They were un- 
sparing in their censure of the poor little 


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freak, who, no doubt, through it all, had her 
plans laid, and everything ready for her trip 
into the unknown. She was hedged in on every 
side but one, and when that accusation was 
thrown upon her, I think it proved the last 
straw. 

‘‘Listen to me. Mother Van,’^ said Latham. 
“You’re not meant for a reformer. You don’t 
know the ropes at all. Reformers, particularly 
of this brand, are nothing if not radical.” 

“Weir, why not go to the root of an evil? 
I believe in thorough work,” and Mrs. Seldon 
lifted her chin, and looked righteous. 

“Yes, of course, you do, and so do other re- 
formers, and, so to assist in thoroughness, they 
must have a sinner thoroughly black before be- 
ginning their work of regeneration. If a 
woman is only suspected, why, that’s some- 
thing highly seasoned to talk about; and how 
they do talk, and write letters, and keep tele- 
phone wires buzzing until the suspect is 
whipped, ostracised, black-listed and all the 
rest. When she’s as black as slander can 
make her, she either does as Mother Van’s ten- 
ant did, go down the lonely road, or, thinking 
she has nothing more to lose, she really goes 
into the muck and makes no secret of it. Nfext 
act, in comes the reformers with their rakes. 
Their victim can get no blacker. They fish her 
out, ply the white wash of their own self- 
righteousness, and then put her into some 
Christian woman’s dirty kitchen, and tell her 
to be good. Oh, bosh! a good woman, in a 
house like that would find herself awfully lone- 


102 


PAYING THE PIPER 


some. By and by, they call in the whole gang 
of mnck-rakers and they compare notes, and 
look pions' while the redeemed one, in cap, 
apron, silence and proper humility, passes tea 
and biscuits. I^m not surprised that so few of 
the reformed ones stay reformed. There’s a 
lot to be said on the other side.” 

‘‘You bet there is,” said Jansen, and his 
mother looked shocked. Mrs. Vandoren turned 
again to the list. She laughed as she said, “I 
see Ethel Finley is one of your charter mem- 
bers.” 

“Yes, Ethel has been a sufferer from the 
machinations of a fallen woman. Why 
shouldn’t she join us?” 

“You mean that story for which she, more 
than anyone else, was responsible for last 
winter, about Jack and my unfortunate ten- 
ant ? ’ ’ 

“Well, now, Mrs. Vandoren, I do believe 
that Jack was infatuated. You know he left 
home, and it was suspected that he was living 
with that woman ” 

“Yes, others of your list of reformers sus- 
pected, and straightway, with Ethel in the lead, 
spread their suspicions, as facts. It required 
very little inquiry to discover that he was liv- 
ing at home in his father’s house, and, consid- 
ering everything, I, for one, think him very 
foolish to have gone back to that homely, ili- 
bred, fiendish-tempered wife. Some of these 
women in your list, actually, persecuted Jack’s 
mother nearly out of her senses. The way 
some of them treated her at a certain club 


PAYING THE PIPEE 


103 


meeting, just three days before the suicide in 
my house, was shameful, and then, there was 
no end of wonder when she resigned from all 
the clubs. 

^AVas that the reason she resigned? I think 
she was very foolish. She should have held 
her membership and lived down the scandal. 
One sacrifices a great deal when leaving such 
clubs as Mrs. Finley belonged to.^’ 

Mrs. Vandoren laughed: ‘H^m quite sure 
the clubs lost much more than she did.’’ 

^^My dear,” Mr. Seldon said judicially, 
turning towards his wife, ‘‘Mrs. Finley prob- 
ably sacrificed, by her resignations, the only 
chance of being further maligned by a lot of 
idle women, whq are banded together for the 
sole purpose of showing up each others weak- 
nesses. The idea, of any woman in New York 
trying to censure Mrs. Finley!” 

“Of course you never did approve of 
women’s clubs, but you’ve always had your 
own.” 

“Yes, and in all my experience, and from all 
I’ve ever heard of in my own clubs, if one of 
our members should say to another what you 
told me that that flat-footed Cynthia Bushnell 
said to Mrs. Finley, he’d, at once be asked for 
his resignation. It wouldn’t be tolerated, this 
meddling with family affairs.” 

“I’m sure I don’t remember anything so 
very dreadful.” 

“You don’t? it was when the air was thick 
with the talk that Ethel had set afloat after 
berating Jack until he left the house. Cynthia 


104 


PAYING THE PIPEE 


Buslmell met, Mrs. Finley at one of their clubs, 
and, now try to grasp the impertinence of it. 
She actually asked her if it was true that Jack 
was living with Mrs, Van’s tenant. Of course, 
for a woman, there was but one answer. If 
Finley had been asked that question, I fancy 
the meddlesome old cat might have swallowed 
her false teeth. Then the righteous Cynthia 
said, ‘Well, I’m glad to hear it. Now mind, 
I tell you that house is being watched and if 
he’s found there he’ll be taken out and tarred 
and feathered.’ Think of it — saying that to 
a woman like Mrs. Finley, and to be said by a 
woman like the Bushnell. That’s a fine ex- 
ample of charity and help for the fallen.” 

“Say, Dad, is that the Bushnell who has the 
little garter factory down somewhere in the 
slums ? ’ ’ 

“The very one, there’s only one of her kind, 
I hope. She tried to put that milk-sop son 
of hers into the work, but he came so near 
swamping the whole outfit that she found she 
must run it herself. No danger of him ever 
being principal in a scandal.” 

“Motherkins, listen a minute,” and Max 
backed the fire and faced the company. “Isn’t 
that a fine outfit to stack up in the class with 
Vandoren, Finley and Eogers? Ha! ha! ha! 
Little Mother, you’re in fine company. Join 
another club, and kow-tow to Mrs. Bushnell, 
the lady of the garter.” 

“And to think a woman like that,” said 
Mrs. Latham, “Should presume to threaten 
and patronize and generally persecute one like 


PAYING THE PIPER 105 

Mrs. Finley, a member of one of the finest 
families in Vinginia/’ 

''Well, dear me!'' and Mrs. Seldon looked 
about with an injured air. "I had no idea 
that you Vandorens ever thought of such 
things as family dignity. This is the first time 
I've ever heard it mentioned by any one of 
you." 

Mrs. Vandoren smiled, lifted her chin a trifle, 
but said nothing. Mrs. Latham, with much of 
her mother's manner, answered: 

"We don't have to. It's always been taken 
for granted by people who really know us ; we 
don't expect to go about the streets blowing 
horns, excepting when on a tally-ho." 

"I see Mrs. Bushnell's on your list." 

Then Mrs. Seldon sat up very straight. 
"Yes, she's on our list, and really, Cynthia's a 
woman with a great deal of character, 

and " Jansen interrupted: "Mighty poor 

sort of character, I should say. She'd be a 
better woman if she had less, considering the 
kind." 

"Well, if my own family is against me, 
there's no use of talking to you, Mrs. Van. 
I'm sorry. I had counted on you, from the 
very fact that you had been imposed upon so 
lately. ' ' 

"Mrs. Seldon, I was not imposed upon any 
more than were many others. I met the 
woman in question in highly respectable 
houses, where she must have been invited. I 
met very good people in her apartment when, 
on several diiferent occasions I was there. 


106 


PAYING THE PIPER 


All the fault I think of now was her untruth- 
fulness, but, she only lied about herself, and 
these lies, taken as a whole, made up the story 
of a life she had never lived. They did harm 
to no one They were not such lies as were 
told of her and Jack Finley, and even of 
Jack’s mother. These were harmful and dis- 
graceful, and since you have several other 
women on your list who were particularly 
prominent and officious in that affair, I don’t 
believe that I care to be associated with 
them. ’ ’ 

‘‘Now there’s Janet Preston; she’s a fine 
woman, a woman prominent as an educator, 
and one who stands for all that’s good and 
pure.” 

Mrs. Vandoren laughed, and glanced at Mrs. 
Latham, who scoffed: “Janet Preston! the 
worst meddler and mischief maker I ever 
knew. Why, she kept Ethel Finley fairly 
raving last winter with her tattling long after 
Jack had gone home, and everything seemed 
to be settled.” 

“It’s hard to believe that of Janet,” and 
Mrs. Seldon elevated her eyebrows and looked 
patient. 

“You needn’t believe it. Truth is truth, 
whether any one believes it or not.” 

“What reason could Janet have for behav- 
ing in any such way as that ? Why it ’s utterly 
ridiculous.” 

“Perhaps you’d better ask Ethel’s next best 
friend, that brazen Mrs. Montfort. She’s the 
first vice-president of the club where Janet 


PAYING THE PIPER 


107 


holds the reins. She was heard to say at a 
luncheon where a half dozen or more heard 
her, that Janet’s in love with Jack, and she 
fancies that if there should be a separation, 
she’d soon be elected to comfort the grass 
widower. ’ ’ 

“I don’t believe a word of it, if Mrs. Mont- • 
fort did say it. She’s spiteful at Janet for 
some reason. I don’t know why it is, but 
Janet does seem to make enemies, or she’s un- 
able to keep friends.” 

know why it is,” Mrs. Latham said 
crisply. “It’s because she’s a time-server and 
a meddler. One of her associate teachers said 
to me not long ago: ^There’s nothing the 
matter with Miss Preston, excepting she’s 
very narrow-minded — oh, well, her mind’s just 
about wide enough to admit Ethel Finley’s 
automobile!’ That’s the estimate put upon her 
by one of those who knows her well.” 

“It was rather amusing last winter,” Mrs. 
Vandoren said, “when Miss Preston came to 
me, all excitement, and urged me to turn the 
small madam out of my house. Oh, she was 
quite dictatorial about it ; explained to me that 
I could not atford to let her stay. It was quite 
dreadfully disgraceful. I tried to tell her that 
I felt sure I could afford to use my own judg- 
ment in the matter, whereat she was indignant, 
reminded me that she, occupying a public posi- 
tion, knew how some things looked that I, in 
my home shelter, — oh and a lot more of such 
stutf. She kept me listening to her impertin- 


108 


PAYING THE PIPEE 


ence while a half dozen girl reporters waited 
patiently for me to say something to them 
about — IVe forgotten what.’’ 

^‘The idea of that woman trying to dictate 
to you!” from Philip. “And I suppose you 
took it as coolly as if she had simply said how 
dye do?” 

“Why shouldn’t I have been cool? Oh, yes, 
she had lain awake nights thinking of it. I 
remember I asked her if she was quite sure 
her liver was not torpid.” 

“Well of all things. Mother Van!” and 
Latham picked up his daughter, continuing, 
“Look here, Melicent Vandoren Latham, do 
you know you’ve got a lot to live up to? If 
you don’t turn out something more than the 
average, you’ll be no credit to your grand- 
mother. ’ ’ 

Mrs. Seldon snitfed spitefully, “It’s a great 
pity for a man, to be as fascinating as Jack 
Finley is. We’re continually hearing of some 
woman who ’s in love with him. ’ ’ 

“Yes, that’s true, mother,” and Jansen 
glanced at the clock on the mantel and rose 
from his chair. “Eeally Jack’s good looks 
wouldn’t be such a bother if his wife was not 
such a homely little nonentity. You see, Ethel 
doesn’t appreciate the situation at all, and 
she’s continually kicking up a row with him, 
and going about reporting of his cruelty and 
neglect. That’s all in her eye. The difficulty 
is, if she sees him lift his hat to a woman of 
their mutual acquaintance, she accuses him of 


PAYING THE PIPER 


109 


carrying on an intrigue of the most clandestine 
kind. Jack’s really not handsomer than 
Carey, but, please to note the difference in 
their respective wives; not only in face and 
person, but — everything.” 


CHAPTER X 


The importing house of Vandoren, Finley 
and Rogers was particularly fortunate in the 
circumstance that two of the partners had sons 
who elected to learn the business, and, in due 
course of time, enter the firm. Mrs. Vandoren, 
since the death of her husband had held his 
place, and had met the other two partners once 
a week for consultation. Now, since Philip 
had amply proved his business qualifications 
by his conduct of the branch house in San 
Francisco, she proposed to him that he take 
her place, as head of the firm. But, since she 
had no other reason than that she wished to 
advance him, he declined emphatically. He 
said he preferred to stand on a footing with 
Jack and Lewis Finley, rather than be placed 
ahead of the two older men. Further, that if 
the elder Finley retired, or if the house saw 
Jit to take in Jack and Lewis, then he would 
accept his mother’s place. Now, Lewis was in 
the branch house in the West, where he was 
likely to stay for some years at least. So mat- 
ters went on as usual. 

It was the next morning after Thanksgiv- 
ing. Philip and Jack met at the street door, 
110 


PAYING THE PIPER 


111 


and went np in the lift together. They were 
early, and, as they stood removing hats, coats 
and gloves. Jack asked: 

‘‘Did you give thanks T’ 

“Oh, yes. We had a family party at my 
mother ^s, and it seemed like old times.’’ 

“That’s good. We went home, too, but as 
is most frequently the case, Ethel was not in 
the happiest state of mind, and she succeeded 
in chilling the atmosphere for all the rest of 
us. Do you know what Carey thinks ! ” 

“No; what’s the doctor’s opinion I” and 
Philip looked as if he expected a joke. 

“That Ethel is showing symptoms of brain 
softening, simply from lack of employment 
and, temper.” 

“Really?” and Philip smiled incredulously. 

“Really. You know how the theory is gain- 
ing that the mind influences the blood and the 
nerves? Well, if envy, hatred and malice can 
poison one’s system, I can’t see how Ethel 
lives from day to day, excepting for the truth 
of that other theory that, if one indulges for 
sometime in deadly poisons, life can’t go on 
without them. ’ ’ 

“I tell you. Jack, it’s hard lines.” 

The two were standing together by a win- 
dow that looked down on swarming Broad- 
way. , 

“I don’t know what we could have in its 
place that would meet the requirements of our 
complex civilization any more successfully, 
but I am ready to state without any reserva- 
tion, that in— -well, at least, a large proportion 


112 PAYING THE PIPEE 

of the whole, that marriage is a gigantic 
failure. ’ ’ 

‘‘Here, too,^’ and Jack wondered, as had so 
many of Philip’s friends, what could be the 
shape of the skeleton in his closet. The two 
did not look at each other as they talked. 
Both seemed low-spirited. Jack continued: 

“WeVe often wondered, at our house, what 
ever happened to old Eogers that he never 
married. On Wednesday, when we were about 
leaving the house, something was said about 
his Thanksgiving, and what he would do. He 
said he’d go to church in the morning, then 
lunch at home with his sister, and dine, as 
usual with a club of his contemporaries — pass 
the evening with the other old fellows in a sort 
of experience meeting. Father said, ‘Tom, 
it’s a great pity for a man like you to go 
through life alone. You could have made 
some good woman very happy.’ The old fellow 
laughed, saying: ‘Yes, no doubt, but you see, 
John, I’ve often wondered if the possible good- 
woman would have made me one-half as happy 
as I’ve been without her.’ Then he started 
repeating his favorite piece of literature, ‘A 
fool there was,’ stopped suddenly, sent out a 
string of profanity that fairly smoked, and 
said, ‘Oh, ten thousand fools there are, every 
day of the year. I’ve seen them, and I’ll keep 
on seeing them till I die.’ So it seems the old 
man has had his own experience, and knows 
how to read the signs.” 

There was silence for a space, then absently, 
Jack repeated: 


PAYING THE PIPEE 113 

'Ht isn't the shame, and it isn't the blame, 
That stings like a white-hot brand,— 

It's coming to know that she never cared 
a damn, never was capable of caring a damn 
for anything but the money and position a fel- 
low can give her." 

‘‘Well, old man, is it worth your while to 
ruin your own temper and your own health 
for that sort of woman? No matter how much 
a man may be in love, even for years, it has 
never seemed to me to be anything less than 
idiotic to keep on loving the rag, bone and 
hank of hair, when it turns out to be so utterly 
ditferent from what attracted him at first." 

“Don't worry. If Ethel were worth hating 
even, — but, she isn't. She's simply repulsive 
in her nasty personal habits, her self-conceit, 
her general inefficiency and her devilish tem- 
per." 

“Well don't think of it. There's no good 
in remembering the storms of the past." 

Jack laughed: “I don't have to tax my 
memory. We have nice fresh squabbles every 
day; and to say the least of it, it's damned 
monotonous. I think I was meant for a fairly 
decent family man. If I could have the chil- 
dren at home, — but, whenever they've had a 
decent nurse or a maid, or a governess, or 
whatever the woman was called who took care 
of them and their beds and clothes, Ethel al- 
ways put her at something else. Any old thing 
was good enough for the kids. I should ut- 
terly despise myself if I felt the least atom of 


114 


PAYING THE PIPER 


regard for such an inferior specimen of wom- 
anhood. But, such is life. Eat, drink and 
keep the mill going. It^s pretty tough to see 
Lew and Carey with handsome, sensible, cap- 
able wives and — well, never mind. What I 
wonder at most is, how the great Creator ever 
happened to make such a woman as Ethel. 

‘‘What I wonder at most is what sort of 
woman she^d have been by now, if she had 
married that country school teacher to whom 
she was engaged when you met her.’^ 

Jack laughed: “I wonder what sort of man 
he’d have been by now. And the deuce of it 
is, a man may be in this sort of hades from his 
wedding day until he blows out his brains, and 
in this state, at least, there’s no relief with- 
out a scandal.” 

“Why don’t you really give the lady cause? 
She’s accused you openly!” 

“Yes, and for that very reason. I’ll give her 
no least chance to make her lies good.” 

“Well, good Lord, man, why don’t you go 
West? Go out to California, take her with 
you, and do the trick there.” 

“Listen to me, Phil; Ethel wouldn’t have 
a divorce for any price. No separation for 
her ; not that she gives a damn for me, but she 
knows she’s not attractive; I think she really 
knows that, away down inside, though she’d 
die rather than confess it, and she knows she’d 
receive very small consideration from these 
fool friends of hers, if she was not Mrs. Jack. 
But, and I’m not saying this for publication, 


PAYING THE PIPER 115 

on statutory grounds, in this state, I have a 
much better show than she has.’’ 

‘^Good Lord! Jack, then why in the name of 
all that’s self-respecting don’t you cut the 
knot ? ’ ’ 

‘^You forget the kids. Two little girls 
would have but a rough start in the world if 
their mother was set adrift in that way. Mind, 
I’m not saying beyond a doubt, but, if I should 
go before the average jury and tell of several 
happenings that I know of, the good God 
might come down from heaven and say there 
was nothing in it, and the verdict would be 
against Him. The jury would take my story, 
because men know men, and women, too, and 
as far as I can see the great Creator hasn’t 
a very intimate knowledge of the animals 
He’s made, at least, not of the New York 
variety of idle women and rotten blackguards 
like Montfort.” 

^‘It’s Montfort?” 

‘‘Yes. I’ve told you the other side of it, 
how Ethel and that she thing tried to trick 
me? — well, I was pretty drunk, but ” 

Then the senior Finley came in, followed 
closely by Tom Rogers, rotund, rosy, bald- 
headed and breezy, and the hive began to hum 
with the usual noises. The day, like other 
days of routine was started. Jack and Philip 
at their desks showed no signs of domestic 
unpleasantness. Their faces wore the eager 
intentness of the typical American business 
man, and to the looker-on they were very for- 
tunate. Jack’s marital troubles had been well 


116 


PAYING THE PIPEE 


known for years to all tlie near friends of the 
family, and within the last twelve months to 
many outside this circle because of EthePs ill- 
advised bidding for sympathy. She, thinking 
only to avenge herself upon her husband for 
what she was pleased to consider his neglect 
of her, talked long and loud, to whomsoever 
would listen. She had not the acumen, she did 
not understand human nature well enough to 
realize the position in which she was placing 
herself. She never would have believed that 
each woman who listened to her stories re- 
tailed them to her next friend, and together 
they went to a third, a fourth and a twentieth, 
and then, in some special conclave, put upon 
the revised and re-revised version their own 
interpretation. So strange that so good a 
man, from such an excellent family, should turn 
out so badly within so short a time. But, there 
is always a certain charm in profligacy, espe- 
cially when the profligate is handsome, and 
patrician, with delightful manners, and an 
easy flow of wit. Women smiled and shook 
their fingers at Jack, as they glanced at his 
homely wife scowling at him from a corner, 
but they never refused him a dance, a cozy 
chat in a curtained alcove, or a walk up and 
down long halls, or through conservatories. 
If they believed the stories told by his wife, 
they found the same fascination in his society 
that there is in all games of chance. 

Men whose wives had told them the stories 
looked on and swore softly, and repeated with 
grins, ‘‘Eum critters is women.’’ In all these 


PAYING THE PIPER 117 

assemblies, somewhere, ill-dressed as to 
clothes, not dressed at all as to coiffure, watch- 
ful, suspicious, snarling if she spoke to her 
husband, was Ethel. On one occasion Rogers 
remarked to Mrs. Perkins, they were old and 
tried friends: “That little woman has got 
into the wrong chute. She's not in the class 
with Jack Finley, never can hope to be. It's 
a pity. ' ' 

“She's very plain," Mrs. Perkins said se- 
dately. 

“Plain! Why, my dear Mrs. Perkins, plain- 
ness is nothing. She 's common in dress, 
speech, movement, everything. She's less than 
ordinary. I've seen, and so have you, plain 
women who were absolutely bewitching. 
Tasteful in dress, charming in manner, but 
Mrs. Jack, ugh!" 

Mrs. Perkins laughed. “You perhaps have 
in mind that little newspaper story about a 
pair of lovers from Jersey seeing the sights 
in New York. They visited the menagerie and 
saw the hippopotamus come to the surface of 
the water in his tank, and give a great yawn. 
The girl, no doubt in a most angelic frame of 
mind, exclaimed: “ ‘My! ain't he plain!" 

“Ha! ha! that's good, no I hadn't heard it, 
but, it's apropos." 

“Of course it's a great pity that such a man 
as Jack should have introduced such a woman 
into his family, as well as into the circle of 
his old and young friends. I've no doubt but 
that he feels as if he carried a millstone about 
his neck. His brothers both married beautiful 


118 


PAYING THE PIPER 


women in tlieir own class. It’s a great trial to 
Jack’s mother that Ethel blames her influence 
for what she’s pleased to call his cruelty.” 

‘‘Yes, yes, just so, untruthful along with 
the rest of her faults. What a pity it is for 
the children. ’ ’ 


CHAPTER XI 


‘^You look tired, Genevieve,’’ Mrs. Van- 
doren said as she held the hand of her daugh- 
ter-in-law for a moment and scanned her face. 

am a bit tired. I’ve had so many callers 
to-day,” and the purple hollows below her 
eyes, white and trembling lips bore witness to 
her words. 

Don’t stand, you look ready to fall,” and 
Mrs. Vandoren, still holding Genevieve’s hand, 
drew her gently into a chair. “This is not a 
formal reception, and it’s a pity so many of 
your friends have come on the same day to 
make their party call.” 

“I guess I’m not quite well,” and Genevieve 
looked ready to cry. Other callers were an- 
nounced and Mrs. Vandoren passed on down 
the long, beautiful rooms, greeting friends and 
listening to the praises of the new house and 
its furnishings. Some one laid a hand on her 
arm. She turned to greet Ethel Finley, and 
she found herself near a group in a bay 
window. 

“Let us sit here a minute,” Ethel said. 
“You are all members of the Helping Hand 
Club. How are the preparations coming on 
for the bazaar and the ball?” 

119 


120 


PAYING THE PIPER 


‘‘Very well, I believe,’^ Mrs. Perkins an- 
swered. “I am not on the committee of ar- 
rangements. Yon are, aren’t yon, Mrs. Van- 
doren?” 

“Yes, I have the honor and the responsibil- 
ity of being chairman,” and she langhed while 
she pnlled a small frown into her eyebrows. 
“I think we are going on nicely. Everything 
will be ready by the thirty-first, and those who 
care to may dance the Old Year ont and the 
New Year in. Of conrse yon and Jack will be 
of the nnmber?” 

“I don’t know, I’m snre. I’ve been told that 
the committee thonght of inviting me to be a 
patroness, bnt because there wonld be many 
yonng girls at the different booths, and in the 
dance, and becanse of the well-known immoral 
practices of Mr. Finley I was voted ont.” 

“Now, who ever heard of snch a ridicnlons 
thing? I think yonr name was mentioned, bnt 
Jack’s was not — how conld it have been, in 
snch a way, in the presence of his mother?” 

“Seems to me, it wonld have been a fitting 
rebnke for her.” 

Mrs. Vandoren’s eyes grew a shade darker 
and her face slightly paled: “Ethel, it’s only 
charitable to snppose as yonr brother-in-law 
does, that yon don’t always fnlly realize what 
yon ’re talking abont. If all the mothers I 
know had bronght np their children as beanti- 
fnlly as Mrs. Finley has her sons, there wonld 
be fewer bad men and women in the world. ’ ’ 

“Well, my name was certainly mentioned 
and then dropped. Now tell me why.” 


PAYING THE PIPER 


121 


Ethel’s voice was rising and she made wide, 
sweeping gestures with her hands in their 
soiled gloves. 

‘‘Your name was mentioned, so were many 
others, and for many ditferent reasons, not all 
were invited to be patronesses. That you 
should insist on me giving you a reason, after 
stating one yourself, is only one more instance 
of your unaccountable behaviour. Tell me 
who told you what the committee said and 
did.” 

“One of your very prominent members. 
Miss Preston.” 

“You’re mistaken, Miss Preston is not even 
a member of the club, much less of the com- 
mittee. She was asked for her resignation 
more than six months ago. She sent her check 
for the annual dues, and it was returned to 
her. This story is a fabrication from begin- 
ning to end.” 

“Then tell me why I was not asked to be a 
patroness if it was not on Jack’s account.” 

Mrs. Vandoren smiled patiently and looked 
around the small circle. Mrs. Perkins spoke 
brusquely : 

“If you insist on knowing, Mrs. Finley, I’ll 
tell you; I’m not so meally-mouthed as Mrs. 
Van. is. I’m not a member of the committee, 
but I know all about this part of its work, and 
as a hard working lay member of the club, I 
can speak. Of course, we expect the pat- 
ronesses to be quite conspicuous, both at the 
bazaar and the dance, and it was decided that 
you’re not sufficiently neat and stylish in your 


122 


PAYING THE PIPER 


dress and about your hair. You see, we canT 
afford to be represented by women who are 
not irreproachably dressed. Now, there you 
have it. ’ ’ 

don’t believe one word of it,” and Ethel 
rose so hastily from her chair that she over- 
turned it. ‘Ht’s just like a lot of spiteful old 
cats to rule out a woman who’s younger than 
themselves.” 

‘‘Oh, I think we can pardon youth. If you 
look over the list, you’ll find the names of sev- 
eral patronesses who are younger than your- 
self. I’ll tell you more. In spite of your hus- 
band’s immorality, he has taken one of the 
boxes, and he’s on the committee of fioor man- 
agers for the dance,” and Mrs. Perkins 
laughed heartily, as Ethel hurried across the 
room and, greeting her hostess, hastily left 
the house. 

The group in the window saw her stop on 
the walk to speak to Mrs. Montfort and Janet 
Preston, and then the three entered Ethel’s 
automobile and were driven away. 

Lucia Rogers, a slender, middle-aged woman 
in electric blue, said: “There go what my 
brother calls the three disgraces.” The group 
laughed, and Mrs. Perkins asked: “Have you 
seen any ghosts in your apartment. Miss 
Rogers ! ’ ’ 

“No, indeed. We haven’t been disturbed in 
any way. It’s a lovely place to live. I like 
it much better than down town, and so does 
Tom; but, I suppose we’d have stayed there 
till our old house tumbled about our ears, as 


PAYING THE PIPER 


123 


it came near doing, and never been conscious 
of our misery, if Tom hadn’t been fascinated 
with the idea of watching for a ghost.” 

‘‘What about ghosts?” Mrs. Boren asked. 
“Have we haunted houses in New York?” 

“Oh, yes, plenty of them,” Mrs. Vandoren 
said laughing, “but I’m afraid Miss Rogers 
is faithless, and they won’t materialize when 
she’s about.” 

“Really, Mrs. Van, if we mortals have in 
our make-up something that lives after the 
death of the body, something that makes us 
enjoy and suffer while here, and when troubles 
come thick and fast that urges us on and on 
until we can no longer bear the weight of what 
we call life, but throw it off, then, I believe 
that poor little freak would walk about, and 
perhaps grieve over her unfinished life. For, 
how one must be hedged in by trouble on every 
side before taking the last irrevocable step.” 

“You’re living in that apartment?” 

“Yes, Tom heard that Mrs. Vandoren ’s 
agents could keep no tenant there because of 
not only mysterious noises, but even shadowy 
figures flitting about in the most unexpected 
places.” 

“Now, is that really true, Mrs. Van?” Mrs. 
Perkins asked with wonder-wide eyes. 

“It’s true that these things were said, and 
it’s true three different families moved in and 
moved out in as many months. Leases and 
agreements were as nothing. What they saw, 
and what they heard, of course, ” 

Mrs. Vandoren stopped, elevated her brows 


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PAYING THE PIPER 


slightly and held her hands palms outward. 

found on inquiring, that these families had 
all had colored maids. Our hall boys there 
are colored. My unfortunate little tenant was 
very popular with these boys, and she always 
kept colored help. You see, the proper com- 
bination to produce a first-class ha’nt.” 

‘‘And you, Miss Rogers, have not been dis- 
turbed?” Mrs. Perkins asked. 

“No indeed. Our help has been with us for 
years; Jacob Schenck and his wife Lisbet. 
They have no gossip with any of the servants 
in the house. I donT know whether or not 
they’ve ever heard the story of the ghost. If 
they ever do, Schenck will simply smoke it 
away, and his wife believes entirely in him. 
She might see a dozen ghosts, and if Jacob 
couldn’t see them, why then, for Lisbet they’d 
not be there. You see there are faithless ones 
besides myself to exorcise the ghost,” and 
Miss Rogers laughed. 

Mrs. Seldon was seen to come in, stop and 
speak to her daughter, and come down the 
room. 

Mrs. Vandoren rose: “I must speak to Mrs. 
Seldon about Genevieve. She’s looking quite 
fagged. Don’t forget our committee meeting 
on Monday.” 

Mrs. Seldon on being accosted by Mrs. Van- 
doren, drew her away to one side, and after 
a short whispered conversation, the latter 
lady’s face lost its expression of anxiety and 
she said cheerfully: “Of course, if that’s the 
state of affairs, there’s no cause for alarm. 


PAYING THE, PIPER 125 

but she must be careful. She’s very tired 
now. She must not over-exert herself. ’ ’ 

“Yes, she is tired. She’s had so much extra 
work. I’ll see that she goes to bed as soon as 
the house is quiet.” 

The two shook hands and separated. Mrs. 
Vandoren went to Genevieve to say good-bye, 
kissed her, saying: “You must be careful of 
yourself, dear. Don’t try to do too much now. 
You’ll feel better after a few weeks.” 

Genevieve made no answer, excepting to 
cling to Mrs. Vandoren ’s hand. Her lips 
trembled, her eyes were swimming. As her 
mother-in-law made her way to her carriage 
her thought was : ‘ ‘ Such a pity that one must 
have such disagreeable feelings just at first.” 

At dinner that evening Mrs. Vandoren told 
Katherine and Max about her encounter with 
Ethel Finley and of Mrs. Perkins plain state- 
ment of fact. 

“Who do you suppose,” Katherine asked, 
“could have told her her own story?” 

“I think it was not told her. She made it 
herself.” 

“But how could she have known that her 
name was mentioned as a possible patroness?” 

“She knew it would, most naturally be men- 
tioned since she sent a request by Lucia 
Rogers to be put in the list. However, no one 
knows that but Lucia and I. She made a mis- 
take by using Janet Preston’s name as one of 
our prominent members. That gave the key 
to her guess work.” 

Max had not said a word until now. He 


126 


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looked at Ms mother and sister with spoon 
suspended over his dessert, and began very 
soberly: ‘‘Mother, Kate, if I had a farm and 
could discover the fertilizer used by these gos- 
sip retailers to make their stories grow, my 
fortune would be made. I’d have egg-plants 
as big as cows, and string beans as long as 
telegraph poles.” 

Aunt Dempsey answered him: 

“Maxy, dear, your big vegetables wouldn’t 
have time to grow. You see they must be of 
a quick growth, or they’d be tough and 
stringy. ’ ’ 

“Yes, sure, but quick growth doesn’t al- 
ways insure brittleness. Aren’t some of these 
stories we hear about Jack Finley awfully 
tough? and Aunty, I’ll venture my newest 
boxing gloves against your oldest lace collar 
that they’ve been grown over night.” 

The three women laughed. Aunt Dempsey 
murmured something that meant “Every inch 
a Wallberg.” Kate declared “You’d win, 
Maxy,” and his mother: “That’s a safe 
wager, dear, and very properly the half has 
not been told you.” 


CHAPTEE XII 


Philip Vandoran let himself into his 
mother ^s house to find in the hall the whole 
family taking leave of Louise Rudolph. Kath- 
erine and Louise, since the telling of the story 
by Aunt Dempsey of their great-grandmothers, 
had grown into an intimacy that was quite de- 
lightful to both. Their respective mothers often 
remarked: “I never saw anything like the 
way those two sort with each other. 
Then each one praised the other’s daughter, 
and declared herself more than pleased with 
the friendship. Max treated Louise as he 
might a newly found sister or some other near 
relation. Aside from his admiration of the 
girl’s beauty, he found her appreciative of all 
his jokes, ready to guess his latest riddles, in- 
terested in the books he liked, and in every 
sense a good comrade and a lovely friend for 
a boy of sixteen. Philip met her so often at 
his mother’s house when making his daily call 
he had grown to dispense with all formality, 
and she accepted him and his friendship as 
one more charming possession of Katherine’s 
in which she might share. 

Mrs. Vandoren and Philip went down the 
hall to the living room while Katherine and 
127 


128 


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Max put Louise into her electric run-about 
and watched her as she almost flew along the 
Drive. When they were alone Philip said to 
liis mother with just the hint of a smile in his 
eyes, ‘‘Wonder why, while I was about it, I 
didnT marry a copper-haired girl.’’ 

Looking at his eyes his mother saw a return 
of tlie merry-faced boy of ten years ago. 

“Why, Philip! such an ideal Genevieve has 
beautiful hair, and if you’ll recall the past 
you’ll see that you never had eyes for any 
other girl even while you were in knicker- 
bockers.” 

“Yes, I guess that’s true. It was habit. 
Don’t you think so, mother?” 

“That’s a strange question, son, if ’twas 
only habit, it seems to me you’d have some- 
time, within the three or four years between 
leaving Princeton and your wedding day, have 
felt some impulse to break it. Besides, there 
was your year in the West, away from Gen- 
evieve. Did you feel then that it was nothing 
but habit?” 

“No. I didn’t think of it at all, excepting 
as a settled thing. You see it had all been 
arranged for so long. I never thought of any- 
thing else. I was always so busy; particu- 
larly during that first year in San Francisco. 
You don’t know, mother, how anxious I felt 
to make good, — to justify the expectations of 
the house. If I had failed, I’d have gone out 
and hanged myself. Through it all Gen- 
evieve’s letters came regularly, and were as 
regularly answered. It was like a machine, 


PAYING THE PIPEE 


129 


set to run in a certain way, and to the looker- 
on and even to me, it was all right. I had no 
doubts. The variety of life for me was the 
business. That was a game that had to be 
played with watchfulness and care. It was a 
game well worth all the attention I could give 
it. Periodically I must report to the house by 
letter, or be ready to turn things into the 
hands of the inspector. It was work, but I 
liked it, and there was never a day nor an 
hour in which I couldn’t have looked the firm, 
you more than all, mother,” and he clasped 
her hand, ‘‘straight in the eyes, and invited 
the three of you to take possession of every 
scrap of paper about the place. There was no 
time to think of the color of the hair of the 
girl I was engaged to marry.” 

“I understand, Philip, and you and Gen- 
evieve seemed well suited to each other. More 
than that, you had every appearance of being 
happy together.” 

“Yes, we were happy, and I thought we 
were well suited; but, don’t you believe, 
mother, that if one finds, after so many years 
of confidence that — that — there’s a mistake, it 
is a greater shock than if there had been only 
a fancied attachment, a hasty marriage, and 
then ” 

He paused. He had been gazing steadily 
into the grate, full of glowing coals. Suddenly 
he turned to his mother, and she folded her 
other hand over his that clasped her own. His 
eyes were full of unspeakable sorrow. 

“Philip, I've suspected ever since you came 


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home, and before, from your letters, that you 
and Genevieve were unhappy. IVe never ven- 
tured to even guess at the cause. I cannot ask 
for your confidence, but if you ever feel that 
you care to tell one — if I can help you ’’ 

“Yes, mother, I know. That is one of the 
almost unbearable difficulties in the case. IVe 
always told you everything. This, of course, 
as long as both Genevieve and I live, need 
never be known — if she keeps to a very reason- 
able requirement that I make of her. If she 
doesnT, why then, there will be a separation, 
and the whole story will be out. Now, Alex 
Graeme knows, John Trent knows, and she and 
I know.’’ 

Mrs. Vandoren felt the hand she held 
tremble, but Philip still gazed into the fire. In 
view of Mrs. Seldon^s whispered revelation a 
few days before, she wondered what could be 
this guarded secret, this disappointing discov- 
ery, and when had it been discovered? She 
was on the point of speaking to him of what 
Mrs. Seldon had told her, but refrained. A 
matter like that was within his own special 
province. He must speak of it first. 

‘ ‘ Philip, ’ ’ she said very gently ; ‘ ‘ tell mother 
this one thing: is there some other woman?’'’ 

He turned to her smiling; “No, oh no. 
Mother, no other woman; but, there^s another 
man, has been all this time — and long before 
we were married.” 

“Philip! who is he?” 

“Don’t know; never asked any questions. 
I’ve offered Genevieve her own terms for a 


PAYING THE PIPER 


131 


separation, but she knows what that would 
mean, and wonT consent to take the initiative. 
I can’t force the matter, and I confess, I’d 
shrink from the disclosures that would neces- 
sarily be made. I’ve never tried to find the 
man, never watched, have no idea whom to 
suspect, but what I know, I know.” 

‘‘Then the man is not a Californian!” 

“No, he must have lived here in New York 
— perhaps still lives here. I’ve only asked of 
Genevieve not to renew her intimacy — for fear 
of a scandal. Now, if I remember, she made 
no promise. However, that doesn’t matter. 
She wouldn’t keep a promise if she made it.” 

There was silence, only the coals falling 
apart in the grate, and the ticking of the clock 
on the mantel. 

“If Annetje was a more attractive child — 
but, still it seems a bit unnatural that you 
have no affection for her.” 

He made no reply, but as he rose to go and 
drew on his gloves his face was set in stern 
lines. 

“I must be off. Mother Melicent,” and he 
clasped her in his arms. “Ybu’re such a good 
woman, mother, and my sisters are good 
women, — oh, yes, beyond a shadow of a doubt 
they’re good women. There’s no treachery, 
no deceit, nothing that needs hiding and the 
varnish of pretense. I hope little Katherine 
may be mated with a man who is worthy of 
her, — a man as good as Latham.” 

“Yes, Leigh’s a good man, a good husband 


132 


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and father. He and Flora are well suited to 
each other.’’ 

Mrs. Vandoren watched her son as he was 
driven down the street until a curve hid him 
from her view. This was as he had said, the 
hardest of all, for both — that he could not tell 
her the cause of his unhappiness. That it was 
something serious, she could not doubt. Philip 
was not the man to be racked by a foolish 
jealousy. He was too honorable, too lofty to 
harbor a petty suspicion. He had said that 
what he knew, he knew. Then, Genevieve mjist 
have confessed her preference for the other 
lover, or she had been betrayed, possibly by let- 
ters. It must have been some one lower in 
the social scale than Philip, some one, perhaps 
a poor man, or Genevieve would have broken 
with her lover of so many years and married 
the other. She and all her family had always 
been ambitious for social prominence. She 
wondered if Mrs. Seldon had known of this 
other. Philip had used the words renewal of 
the intimacy.” If there was a condition that 
warranted this phrase, then surely Mrs. Sel- 
don must have known of it. Could any girl, in 
any fairly well regulated family carry on in- 
tercourse with a man that would amount to 
intimacy without her mother’s knowledge? 
Surely not; and Mrs. Seldon, with her fre- 
quent voicing of her claims to aristocratic line- 
age, her lofty assumption that very few people 
were worthy of her distinguished considera- 
tion, would she allow Genevieve to entertain a 
lover in the absence of her betrothed, absent 


PAYING THE PIPER 


133 


only for a stated period, the end of that period 
to he marked by the wedding day? Though 
Mrs. Vandoren and many of the circle of her 
friends smiled broadly at Mrs. Seldon^s 
vaunted blue blood, they never contradicted 
her, by one word. Tacitly they allowed her 
claims to stand, but sometimes not quite tacitly 
they hinted that to preserve the unities she 
must live up to her blue china. 

This was in Mrs. Vandoren ^s thought now, 
and a wave of indignation passed through her 
mind that this very ordinary daughter of a 
very pretentious mother had succeeded in en- 
tangling, securing her son in marriage, and 
then perhaps feeling that concealment was no 
longer necessary, had thrown it off, had braved 
him, knowing he would bear everything rather 
than have his name dragged through a scan- 
dal. She grieved to think of the long future 
for him. What would the years be to him with 
this incubus?’^ 

Even in case of a separation that he had 
said must come if Genevieve should renew the 
intimacy with this unknown lover, what a ter- 
rible thing for a young man — a man prominent 
as Philip in business and in social life; and 
there was the little daughter! What a failure 
had been this marriage! If the final rupture 
came, would not the impress of these several 
years hang about his neck like a millstone? 
She could only hope, that whatever might 
come, he would not lose courage, not forget 
that there are, and always will be, good 
women. 


CHAPTER XIII 


Mrs. Seldon told the Japanese servant in 
her daughter’s hall that he need not announce 
her. She would go straight up to Mrs. Van- 
doren’s rooms. Perhaps it was as well that 
she did so, instead of sending the man. She 
stood for a moment to recover her breath 
after two flights of stairs. It seemed the door 
was open, and there was only the silk portiere 
between her and the interior of her daughter’s 
private parlor, and she heard distinctly Gen- 
evieve’s voice, weeping, sobbing and saying: 
‘‘It’s so cruel! so unbearably cruel!” 

There was a reply in a man’s voice, but too 
low, too muffled for her to catch the words. 

Mrs. Seldon wondered if she had happened 
to run in upon a quarrel. Something very un- 
usual for Philip to be at home at four in the 
afternoon. She tapped on the door casing. 
Then she heard whispering, hurried move- 
ments, and presently Genevieve lifted the cur- 
tain, saying sharply: 

“Why didn’t you ring stopping short 

at seeing her mother. 

“What’s the matter, Genevieve?” and Mrs. 
Seldon stared at the rumpled neglige gown, 
the disordered hair and tear-stained face. 

134 


PAYING THE PIPER 135 

‘‘Come in, mother, I thought it was one of 
the servants. I'm feeling miserably ill," and 
she swept the curtain aside. 

Mrs. Seldon entered slowly, “I thought I 
heard Philip’s voice." 

“No, of course you didn’t, only Cousin 
Dirck. Come in, Dirck, it’s no one but 
Mother. ’ ’ 

“Well I wondered if Philip could be at home 
at this time of day, but, you, being — not 
well " 

Genevieve interrupted: “Go down stairs, 
Dirck, and wait for mother. You can go home 
together." 

Dirck J ohnson came from the dressing room, 
grinning, carrying hat, overcoat and gloves. 
Mrs. Seldon frowned heavily. ‘^How long is 
it going to take you, Dirck, to learn to leave 
your hat and coat in the hall! That’s no way 
for a man to present himself in a lady’s 
rooms." 

‘ ‘ Aw, now Aunt, you know I ’m Gen ’s cousin, 
and I just came in without disturbing anybody, 
and there was no use of leaving my things in 
the hall to have them Japs see and come to 
bother Gen about ’em." 

“Oh, I see," Mrs. Seldon said icily. “Well 
go on down to the .library and wait for me." 

He slouched out of the room and when he 
was well down the stairs Mrs. Seldon turned 
to her daughter. 

“How is this, Genevieve, that Dirck can 
come in without being seen by the servants!" 

“Why shouldn’t he! Where’s the use of 


136 


PAYING THE PIPER 


him bothering to come in formally? These 
servants of mine would only criticize him the 
more severely, and we canT deny that he’s one 
of the family.” 

‘^No, we can’t, more’s the pity; but not even 
your father nor your brother has a key to your 
door.” 

^‘They could have if they cared to, besides 
you know the difference there is between them 
and Dirck, I don’t mind having the servants see 
them. ’ ’ 

^‘Well no, I should think not,” Mrs. Seldon 
said frigidly. 

‘‘But for all that, I feel very often, that of 
all the family Dirck ’s the only one who has 
any genuine affection foi me;” and Gen- 
evieve’s weeping was renewed. 

Her mother looked at her, and her face grew 
severe. 

“Now, Daughter, one naturally expects a 
woman in your state of health to have some 
queer fancies, but to talk in that way seems 
absolutely crazy. You’ve no least reason in 
the world to think that of any of the family. 
Barbara, of course, has many engagements, 
and so have I, — so have you, for that matter. 

I expected to see you this afternoon at Mrs. 
Boren’s reception. Finding you had not been 
there, and later that you had sent regrets by 
wire, I thought I might as well come and see 
what had detained you. Instead of being out, 
or at least being occupied with something ra- 
tional, I find you moping and crying, and com- 
plaining to your silly cousin.” 


PAYING THE PIPEE 


137 


Genevieve turned sulky: go on, 

Mother, just go on. If I should tell you what 
I really have to grieve over, possibly you’d 
have a little sympathy for me, though ! doubt 
it,” and her mood changing again, she buried 
her face in her wet handkerchief and sobbed 
aloud. 

Mrs. Seldon was touched. She drew a chair 
close beside Genevieve and put her arm over 
her shoulders: ‘^Genevieve, dear, do tell 
mother what it is. If you can talk to Dirck 
and tell your troubles to him, surely you can 
tell me. I insist on knowing all about it.” 

Genevieve controlled herself and lifted her 
head, but she only glanced at her mother side- 
wise, then turned her gaze toward a window 
that looked out over the river. 

^‘There’s nothing to tell you, mother. You 
ought to be able to see — that Philip doesn’t 
care for me; — really, I think he hates me. I 
know he despises me utterly, and, you needn’t 
be surprised at any time to know that he has 
determined to separate from me — have an ab- 
solute divorce!” 

‘‘Genevieve! Why this is unbelievable. He 
couldn’t get a divorce. Do you mean he’ll give 
you cause? force you to make application?” 

“No, of course not. Oh, no, he’s immacu- 
late; but he’ll trump up something about me, 
and you may expect it any time.” 

“Genevieve, how foolish you are? What do 
you think your father and brother would be 
about if Philip should dare to do anything of 


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that kind? I see how it is. You must consult 
a doctor at once. Shall I telephone Carey?’’ 

‘^No, I don’t want a doctor — anyway I don’t 
want Carey. I’m not sick nor fanciful. I 
know what I’m talking about. You’ve seen 
for yourself how Philip behaves.” 

“Yes, I have, and it has troubled me; but 
I do wish you’d see our own doctor, old 
Magee; he’s known you ever since you were 
born. I’d better call him at once,” and Mrs. 
Seldon left her chair. 

Genevieve sprang up and caught her arm. 
“Mother, if you call Dr. Magee or any other 
doctor. I’ll — I’ll go down to the river,” and 
she held her mother’s arm in a grasp that was 
painful while she gazed at her with wild eyes. 

Mrs. Seldon was at her wit’s end; and more 
than that, she was frightened. She had had 
her own experience, besides knowing of many 
strange happenings amongst her friends; but, 
this being so close to her, quite dazed her. 
The nearness of it blurred her perception. 
She had not been blind to the very strange (to 
say the least) conditions existing in her daugh- 
ter’s family. She could see (as who could 
not?) that Philip and Genevieve were upon the 
coolest, most formal of terms with each other, 
and that he never acknowledged the existence 
of the child, save when compelled to. She had 
wondered much what it could mean and where 
could lie the blame for this strange develop- 
ment of what had been considered a pure and 
simple love match. She had thought that Gen- 
evieve would give her her confidence, but now. 


PAYING THE PIPER 139 

after several months of almost daily inter- 
course, there had been no word of explanation. 
Instead, the mystery seemed to grow. This 
sudden outburst, followed by the refusal of 
sympathy and counsel, was most surprising. 
Still she could not believe it anything more 
than a wild fancy incident to Genevieve’s con- 
dition. However, she would see Philip, and 
have a plain motherly talk with him. During 
the years he had lived in the West and since 
he had come home the older members of the 
firm had been most lavish in their praise of 
his business ability. He was far-sighted; he 
was cool-headed; he was diplomatic; he was 
capable of handling fifty matters at once. 
Rogers declared he must be telepathic in a re- 
markable degree to be able to reach out, dis- 
cover motives and check-mate them as he did. 
Finley told his son Lewis on the eve of his 
departure to take charge of the branch house 
that he had much to live up to, if he kept the 
business going at the pace that Philip had 
established. 

Mrs. Seldon was ready to grant all this 
without argument. She was more than ready 
to agree that Philip was handsome, patrician 
in appearance, much more so than her own 
son, whose possession of blue blood was not to 
be disputed. And yet more, she would not 
deny that, in the main, her daughter was for- 
tunate to have him for a husband. But, for 
all this, she could not sit with folded hands and 
locked lips when her daughter accused this fine 
husband of cruelty ; when she declared he was 


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about to put a great shame upon her innocent 
head. But, she would not be hasty. She knew 
that many married men are neglectful of many 
small matters. There are so many things that 
so many men accept as matter of course — all 
in the day’s work. Amongst these things 
might be numbered the bearing of children. 
‘^Why not?” Mrs. Seldon had heard her own 
husband say: “It’s according to nature. Un- 
derstand ■ yourself and the situation, then go 
ahead. ’ ’ 

Perhaps Philip thought the same way. If 
that should prove to be his opinion and his 
advice, some care must be taken to have Gen- 
evieve understand herself, and also, to keep 
in mind that the husband cannot be expected, 
in all cases to be the lover. She must always 
remember that the wife must dispense with 
many small attentions that the sweetheart re- 
ceived as hers by inalienable right. She would 
remind Genevieve that a certain worldly-wise 
man living up the state had said: “Few mar- 
ried men consider chivalry something to be 
worn at home.” True to his preachment, this 
wise man had not been very chivalrous in his 
treatment of his wife, but reserved his beauti- 
ful behaviour for his mistress in another part 
of the village. 

Mrs. Seldon, after much thought, came to 
the conclusion that if this coolness, this mat- 
ter-of-course attitude of Philip’s had shown 
itself immediately after marriage, it explained 
the striking likeness of little Annetje to Dirck 
Johnson. Genevieve was a week’s journey 


PAYING THE PIPEE 


141 


away from her own people. Philip was ab- 
sorbed in business, and the girl-wife was un- 
utterably lonely. No doubt she bad longed 
for her own family, for sympathy in this new 
experience. Yes, that was the truth, beyond 
a doubt. Perhaps in her loneliness she had 
thought: ^'Oh, if I might only see the most 
worthless, the least desirable of my father’s 
household — even foolish, despised Cousin 
Birck!” It was a revelation to Mrs. Seldon, 
and as she fancied her daughter sitting lonely 
and sad, her thoughts travelling over the long 
distance from one ocean to the other, there 
grew an immeasurable pity in her heart. This 
coldness, this seeming neglect had reacted in 
this intense longing for sympathy and tender- 
ness that had stamped the child both physi- 
cally and mentally. Poor little lonely Annetje! 
She in turn would be, if not neglected, at least 
relegated to an inferior position because she 
was not No, the child was entirely nega- 

tive. Even as Genevieve’s baby, as her own 
only grand-child she could discover in her not 
one lovable quality. Ah, well! so unfortunate, 
but it must not happen again, here under her 
own eyes. 

Genevieve was calmer now. She and her 
mother had sat in silence for some minutes. 

‘‘Now, dear, you’d better lie down and rest 
yourself. I must go. We’re to have a few 
friends to dinner this evening. I’ll see you to- 
morrow.” 

On reaching home she telephoned Philip: 

“Could he call in the morning on his way 


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down town! or would it suit him better to come 
in in the evening after business hours!’’ 
‘^Evening by all means — have important mat- 
ter in hand at nine-thirty in the morning.” 
So it was arranged, and Philip thought after- 
wards how wise he had been. He could not 
have attended to business after receiving Mrs. 
Seldon’s news. 


CHAPTER XIV 


‘H hope you^re not tired; come in here;’^ 
and to the maid, ‘‘I’m not in now to any one 
else.” “Sit there, Philip. No one of the fam- 
ily comes into this little nook when it’s occu- 
pied. It’s a city of refuge to whoever has pos- 
session of it.” 

“That’s a very convenient arrangement. 
Something every house ought to have; a sort 
of common growlery, but no reservation ex- 
cepting by possession.” 

“Yes,” and Mrs. Seldon laughed. “There 
cannot be two growlers at the same time, ex- 
cepting by invitation and consent.” 

“Certainly, and we are in that position 
now?” and he laughed softly: “Will we both 
growl now by invitation and consent? You 
must take the initiative. I have nothing to 
growl about, that I’m aware of.” 

“Indeed! You’re fortunate,” and Mrs. Sel- 
don looked at him sharply. Then she sat in 
silence. She had planned how she would have 
this talk, but it was not easy. Philip waited, 
and restrained a desire to look at his watch. 
His business manner was likely to come to the 
surface at any moment. He often said that 
years of precious time were wasted by people 
143 


144 


PAYING THE PIPER 


beating about the bush of very simple matters 
and then calling their twaddle diplomacy. 
Now as his mother-in-law hesitated, he only 
waited, and she, after a pause that was growing 
embarassing, finding he was not going to chat, 
said, “Ahem!’^ then paused again. Philip be- 
gan to think his mother-in-law very weari- 
some, and asked: 

‘^Did you call me yesterday? Did you wish 
to speak to me about anything special?’’ 

“Yes, Philip, I did both. I had just been 
to see Genevieve, and I’m quite anxious about 
her. ’ ’ 

“Indeed? and why are you anxious? I 
found her in her usual health at dinner.” 

“Well, no doubt she had had time to become 
composed. It must have been five, or a trifle 
later when I left her. I had found her very 
much agitated, in fact, quite hysterical. She 
seems to have gotten the fancy that she’s neg- 
lected and disliked.” 

“By whom?” Philip asked almost stolidly. 

“By you, of course. The neglect, no doubt 
of thoughtlessness; the dislike, fancied be- 
cause of your absorption in business.” 

“Foolish, childish,” Philip muttered as he 
threw one knee over the other. “And you 
wanted to see me to tell me this?” 

“Yes, it may seem foolish and childish to 
you. I know all about it. Genevieve was 
never given to moods, but the best balanced 
woman in the world will, at certain times, have 
very queer fancies and we must make allow- 
ances and be kind and considerate.” 


PAYING THE PIPER 


145 


‘‘Why of course, one should always be con- 
siderate of others, and be reasonable in be- 
haviour; but you say at certain times. What 
are those certain times T’ 

“Surely you know, Genevieve ^s condition P’ 

“You mean V’ he stopped and rose 

slowly, it seemed painfully, from his chair. 

Mrs. Seldon nodded her head, smiled, and 
Philip exclaimed “ Again 

Then his mother-in-law thought: “Well, if 
he isn’t business crazy, he’s naturally silly, 
and she laughed and drew down the corners of 
her mouth. In her mind there was nothing 
but contempt for this high-class business man. 
Why should he, of all persons, be surprised? 

She repeated, “Again; and why not? Are 
you so discouraged about your one child that 
you want no more? It’s my opinion that ii 
you had treated Genevieve with a little com- 
mon human kindness Annetje would not have 
been marked as she is. I want you now to 
try to realize that there is something else in 
the world for the husband of my daughter to 
think of besides business.” 

“Mrs. Seldon,” slowly and with white lips, 
“I do realize that, fully. The husband of your 
daughter has had that to think of that he 
hopes to God very few men have been bur- 
dened with, but. I’ll keep on thinking for a 
while. ’ ’ 

“What do you mean?” 

“When I know, beyond all doubting that 
this that you tell me is true, then you shall 
know what I mean; but, ^on’t be frightened,” 


146 


PAYING THE PIPER 


as slie raised her out-spread hands, ‘‘every- 
thing shall go on decently, decorously. If 
there is a public scandal, it will not be my 
fault. I’ve had a long lesson in self-control.” 

“I don’t understand you. Why do you talk 
in riddles? I demand an explanation.” 

“By and by, perhaps very soon, we’ll have 
a day full of explanations. Then I’ll hope to 
have some things explained to me. I’ve kept 
silent for five years; Genevieve knows how 
silent, how considerate I’ve been,” and 
Philip’s face was a mask of contempt. “I 
shall keep on in the same way, and, Mrs. Sel- 
don, for your own sake, for the sake of the 
family, and most of all, for Genevieve’s, try 
to exercise a hit of consideration for me. 
Don’t harry me, and don’t try to force me to a 
show down, because if you do, you’ll regret it. 
Don’t talk outside, and don’t go to my mother 
with any complaining. I’m not going to have 
her worried. She’ll know all about it when 
everything’s done. Whenever you have any- 
thing to say, come and say it to me. Put what- 
ever construction you please on Genevieve’s 
ravings. She knows why she’s unhappy about 
her condition, and so do I.” 

He had stood while he talked and, as he fin- 
ished he bowed himself out of the room, and 
left the house. 

Philip was driving. Whoever wished might 
run a steam, electric or gasoline machine; he 
kept one because it was the fashion, but he 
never lost his affection for his gentle, intelli- 
gent, high-bred horse. He saw his mother at 


PAYING THE PIPEE 147 

her window, and waved his hat. They had had 
their talk in the morning. He might see her at 
any time; as he said: ‘'She’s one of ns; a 
little confab with her often puts me in the 
right mood for the day, if it happens that IVe 
put the wrong foot foremost in the start.” 

He reached home, ran np stairs to meet Gen- 
evieve in evening gown and jewels: 

“You’re late. Did yon forget onr theatre 
party r’ 

He glanced at the clock on the landing: “It 
is later than I thought, — but it’s early 
enough.” He hurried into his dressing room. 
“Tell Kara I’ll be down in ten minutes, and 
dinner may be served directly.” 

Genevieve watched him narrowly. All day 
she had wondered and feared — wondered if 
her mother would take it upon herself to tell 
him anything, to make inquiries, and she 
feared for the consequence. Now his manner 
was the same as it had been all these years, 
quiet, forbidding, the manner she fancied a 
judge on the bench might wear when about to 
pronounce a well-deserved death sentence. 
Surely, if he had been told, his manner would 
be different. Or, would it be too much to 
guess, that rather than have a sensation made 
of his domestic affairs he would bear in silence 
as he had done before? What has happened 
may happen again, she reflected, and a man of 
Philip’s spirit would hesitate long before con- 
fessing publicly that, as he expressed it he had 
“paid the piper for another man’s dancing!” 
True, he had warned her that he would not 


148 


PAYING THE PIPER 


pay a second time, but b^r thought had run on 
half way through the dinner and was now in- 
terrupted by Philip asking: 

^‘Have you heard of Ethel Finley ^s acci- 
dents^ 

‘‘No; what sort of accident? Pall down 
stairs? tripped by her high heels? I’m not 
surprised; she wears the very highest to be 
had, and she’s awkward.” 

“No, it’s not a matter of heels. Her ma- 
chine, by some means not yet explained, was 
over-turned this afternoon, damaged beyond 
repair, and Ethel picked up with a broken arm, 
dislocated ankle and a knee injured in some 
way, and several severe bruises. They don’t 
know the full extent of her injuries.” 

“Indeed! I thought her chauffeur was quite 
reliable. ’ ’ 

“She had made a change lately, or the man 
made a change for himself. He told Carey he 
was tired of her perpetual nagging. She em- 
ployed a colored fellow and Jack went out with 
him once; used up all his rhetoric trying to 
persuade Ethel to dismiss him, and refused to 
ride with him again. Of course, Ethel has 
stormed over it every time she’s asked him to 
go, and in spite of these several quarrels, she 
called for him this afternoon about three 
o’clock, to go on a jaunt arranged for some 
time ago down somewhere on Long Island. He 
reminded her that only last night he had told 
her he wouldn’t go without a change of driv- 
ers. She made a scene in the office, and I think 
Finley, Senior, was tempted to throw her 


PAYING THE PIPER 


149 


down stairs. She and the black chantlenr 
started away, expecting to pick up some one 
or two others. It was not more than a half 
hour till Jack was ^phoned from the Roose- 
velt Hospital of the accident. 

‘‘Well, I’m glad I’m not in the house with 
her, and I’m sorry for Jack and the servants.” 

‘ ‘ She ’s not at home. The accident happened 
not far from the Roosevelt Hospital and she’ll 
remain there.” 

“And the chauffeur?” 

“Killed; crushed between the machine and 
an “L” pillar. Jack’s already planning to 
have the children home for holidays — always 
some comfort.” 

Genevieve said nothing. Sipping her black 
coffee, she wondered how her domestic life 
would have been if — if she had not — ah, she 
could not think of the mistake she had made 
without feeling the blood rushing in a torrent 
over face and neck only to recede as rapidly, 
to leave her white and faint. And yet, know- 
ing the consequences as she did, had she not 
deliberately sinned a second time? and what 
would be the end of it? She felt that, if not 
mad already, she would surely go mad ; or, had 
she not been mad all these years ? Why should 
any sane woman do as she had done? Ah, if 
Philip could guess how she had abased herself 
in her own thoughts ; how she had beaten her- 
self with her clenched hands; how she had 
stood staring at her reflection in her many 
mirrors and called herself wanton, low, mis- 
erable wretch, with no self-respect andmo self- 


150 


PAYING THE PIPER 


control. And yet, these paroxysms past, if the 
tempter came, one touch of his hand, and she 
was in his arms, her lips pressed to his own. 
When she had time to think of it, she knew 
that one of the most short-sighted things she 
had ever done was to betray herself to her 
mother; to allow her sharp eyes to surprise 
her secret. Why had she done this ? Why had 
she not denied, over and over the fact of her 
condition when her mother had merely guessed 
it? Ah, it was true, fatally true : Whom the 
Gods would destroy they first make mad.’’ 

She had meant to be so wise. She had 
taunted Philip that if she had not been so 
foolish as to go to his nearest friend for advice 
and help, if instead, she had gone to a physi- 
cian unknown to him, he would never have 
known; he would have readily taken her word, 
that she had sutfered an accident and, a conse- 
quent — disappointment. Now again she had 
blundered, after being castigated, all these 
years for her earlier sin. Knowing her mother 
as she did, so jealous for the rights and the 
proper consideration due her family, she was 
as sure that she would take it upon herself to 
talk to Philip as that she would meet him. 
Without doubt she would find a proper time 
and place, and then the revelation would be 
made. Would it then be of any use to assure 
him, there would be no open disgrace? Would 
it pacify him if, at the risk of her life she 
should destroy the evidence of her infidelity? 
How could she know? There was nothing for 
it but to wait for whatever the gods and the 


151 


PAYING THE PIPES 

coining days held for her. How alone, how ut- 
terly deserted and friendless she felt! She 
sat in the theatre box that evening in all the 
glory of her faultless gown and her splendid 
jewels, in the eyes of the audience the honored 
wife, the fortunate woman. She was chaperon 
of a party consisting of her own and her hus- 
band’s sister, Louise Eudolph and brother, 
Jansen Seldon, and John Hibbard, a college 
friend of Jansen’s, home from a two years’ 
stay in Europe. And Philip — not now ab- 
sorbed in business atfairs, he was suave, deb- 
onair, the society man par excellence. 

The play was Othello; in the title role one 
of the greatest of living tragedians. Kath- 
erine said to Hibbard: 

never let go by a chance to see Othello. 
I’ve seen the play, I think ten times, and I 
always keep wishing the denoument to be dif- 
ferent; that the great general will be softened 
by the beauty and distress of Desdemona.” 

Hibbard looking into Katherine’s lovely 
eyes, answered: ^‘Yes, the face and voice of 
a beautiful woman ought to melt sticks and 
stones.” 

‘^Excepting when a man is so silly as to be 
jealous,” and Genevieve looked straight before 
her. 

Philip said: ‘‘One must take temperament 
and culture into account in matters like jeal- 
ousy. I think that ordinarily it is a sensation 
felt only by a man or a woman who knows his 
or her inferiority in some, if not in many re- 


152 


PAYING THE PIPER 


spects. It’s start is in the idea of ownership; 
exclusive rights, and things of that sort.” 

Jansen Seldon faced about from Louise: 

‘^But, Phil, what about that theory of no 
real love without jealousy?” 

‘‘What about it? Why, just as much about 
it as there is about a lot of other fool theories. 
I subscribe to the human, the civilized, the 
reasonable theory that where there is real love 
there is faith, confidence, trust, congeniality of 
soul, or mind or whatever we may name the 
part^of us that knows things.” 

“And do you believe that this real love lives 
through evil and through good reports, par- 
dons everything, and all the rest that is prom- 
ised every day of the year?” 

“Love ought to stand against evil reports, 
as long as they are only reports, until proven 
either true or false; but if a man or a woman 
finds him or herself tricked, deceived, in short 
if a person who has inspired love turns out to 
be a false pretense, then the deceived one, to 
go on loving must surely do so with the sac- 
rifice of self-respect. A love of that sort is 
the plain animal instinct, but not the sort that 
goes for the betterment of the race, — ^no, not 
by a jug full.” 

Genevieve, listening, felt chilled. The same 
old story. The same untempered justice. Her 
fate was sealed. Louise Rudolph turned to- 
ward Philip, and raising her right hand with 
index finger towards the wall, repeated: “The 
moving finger writes, ‘ Oh, the inexorableness of 


PAYING THE PIPEE 153 

fate when it’s real name happens to be Mr. 
Philip Vandoren.’ ” 

Philip laughed. ‘^Yes, little girls with cop- 
pery hair would better mind their p’s and q’s, 
for, 

— “Having writ, 

Moves on; nor all your piety nor wit 

Shall lure it back to cancel half a line. 

Nor all your tears wash out one word of it.’ ” 

Dr. Finley and his wife came into the box. 

“Ah, what a jolly set you have here!” 

“Yes,” Celeste added, “We’ve sat down 
there and envied all the evening.” 

“Which one of us have you envied?” Jan- 
sen asked. 

“Oh, all of you — envied collectively, not in- 
dividually. You’ve looked so happy, and 
we’ve wondered if you were discussing the 
play.” 

“Yes, we were,” and Barbara leaned for- 
ward. “Katherine wants it remodeled with a 
blond Othello.” 

“Oh, nonsense, Barbara! No, I don’t object 
to the Moor’s complexion. I like dark peo- 
ple ” 

“Oh Lord!” groaned August, “let me hide 
my lint- white locks.” > 

“Not quite lint, nearer taffy,” laughed Hib- 
bard. 

“Worse and more of it :” 

“Hush boys,” Katherine said with the dic- 
tatorial air so soon learned by a pretty girl. 


154 


PAYING THE PIPER 


‘ ‘ I only want Othello to be great in other ways 
than soldiering. I want him to be too great 
to be hoodwinked by lago. When I’m married 
if my husband listens to one word against me, 
one breath, even from his mother, or his grand- 
mother, he’ll have a chance to try to breathe 
through a sofa pillow, not 1.” 

Philip reached over and clasped his hand 
upon her upper arm. Katherine laughed and 
made a fist, saying: ‘‘Oh, I’d do it.” 

“Yes, indeed! I tell you boys, the muscle 
of this dickey bird is something wonderful; 
enough to throttle the biggest kind of a turkey 
gobbler. ’ ’ 

Dr. Finley spoke in an undertone to Philip. 

“Heard of Ethel’s accident?” 

“Yes, any further developments?” 

“No, there seems to be no internal in- 
juries,” and he laughed softly: “Poor old 
Jack’s going to have all the comforts of a 
home now for a while. Mother says she 
caught the three servants dancing a break- 
down in the dining-room by way of expressing 
their grief.” 

“It seems her wilfulness and her temper, 
for once have doubled on her.” 

“Yes, it’s just plain, old style Nemesis who 
has tripped her up at last. Come, Celeste, we 
must go back to mother.” 

Then, in a lower tone to Philip: “You see 
the family had to come out to-night to divert 
our minds from the affliction, that’s not severe 
as it might be.” 


PAYING THE PIPER 155 

Philip laughed: ‘‘Pity Jack couldnT have 
come, too.’’ 

“Oh, he’s comfortable somewhere in sack- 
coat and cigar ashes. Ethel must remain at 
the Roosevelt — the taking her home would be 
too hard on her after the nervous shock she’s 
sustained.” 

The curtain went up for the last act, and 
Rudolph whispered to Katherine: 

“I really believe the Moor is going to re- 
lent. ’ ’ 

“Hush, he isn’t.” 

“Well, if you say so, I’ll jump over and cut 
his neck.” 

Genevieve laughed, but the corners of her 
mouth were drawn down: 

“ I ’ll tell you what a nowadays woman would 
do,” and answering the questioning eyes: 
“She’d take the matter into her own hands, 
and fool the Moor by taking two or three 
sleeping powders, when one is a dose.” 

“You mean,” Philip said carelessly, as he 
played with Louise’s fan, “she’d do that if 
guilty.” 


CHAPTER XV 


After Philip left her, Mrs. Seldon sat very 
still. She was experiencing a new sensation. 
She had meant to talk to Philip, she told her- 
self, like a mother, at least like the mother of 
his wife. How was it that her well laid, and 
mentally thoronghly rehearsed plan had 
failed? How had she lost control of the situa- 
tion? Really, now that she thought of it, she 
had been dictated to, and, by the young man 
whom she had known nearly all his life; the 
man who, as a boy, she had sent home from 
her house when her clock struck nine; no mat- 
ter if he was the son of the wealthy Philip 
Vandoren, was she not Elizabeth Johnson 
Seldon? Was not the Trinity Corporation 
deeply indebted to her? Had not her people 
been in the law for — several generations? and 
for all these generations had they not harried 
the great Trinity for a settlement? That they 
had failed did not weaken the justice of her 
claims. It was only the triumph of might over 
right. It made her none the less an heiress 
without her fortune, a queen without her 
throne. And this man who had had the honor, 
yes, the honor, to marry her daughter; who 
was he? True, he was a fine business man, 
156 


PAYING THE PIPEE 


157 


but then — only the son of a speculator, and a 
dealer in foreign goods. True too, he was 
handsome — so were many of the immigrants 
who landed at Ellis Island with their many 
children and their bundles. True, he had a 
very grand manner. No son of a hundred 
earls could carry his head more loftily, could 
look one more fairly in the eyes, nor speak 
with more dignified composure. No doubt this 
manner was inherited from his slave-owning 
ancestors, and Mrs. Seldon shrugged her 
shoulders, tilted her chin, and sniffed audibly. 
All the evening she thought the matter over. 
Mr. Seldon, as usual, read a paper or two, then 
buried himself in the latest novel until ten. 
Barbara and Jansen, at the play, never would 
have dreamed that their handsome, genial 
brother-in-law had given their mother such a 
bad evening. 

That she was angry is stating the case 
mildly. She had never been in such a position 
before. She could not have imagined such a 
position. Several times during the evening, 
she was on the point of telling Mr. Seldon 
the whole story. Philip had not mentioned 
him in telling her not to talk; but she hesi- 
tated, considered, and did not. Philip had 
been quite positive, quite enigmatical. He had 
hinted at things, talked of his own silence, and 
asked consideration for himself. What had he 
been silent about? Did he know something 
about the family? Had Jansen been-doing- 
things-that-other young men do? and had 
Philip supplied ‘'hush money? Had Gen- 


158 


PAYING THE PIPER 


evieve ‘‘No, no!’’ she clasped her hands, 

and spoke aloud. That supposition was too 
wild, too unjust to be entertained for a mo- 
ment. Not her pure, high-minded daughter, 
who had never had any other lover through all 
her girl-hood. 

“No, in our family,” Mrs. Seldon quoted 
from the last English novel she had read, “the 
men are all brave and the women are all vir- 
tuous.” Jansen may have put himself into 
Philip’s hands, even as far in the past as when 
he was in college — Philip had said ‘all these 
years,’ he had been silent, but he should not 
punish Genevieve for a fault of Jansen’s. She 
would see him again. She would hurry on that 
day of explanation that he had promised. He 
said, too, that when he knew, beyond doubt- 
ing — ^what did he mean by that? Was he so 
angry that his child resembled her people in- 
stead of his? It was all a tangle. She could 
make nothing of it. If she had not been so 
astonished at the turn he had given to their 
conversation she would not have lost her wits ; 
she would have kept the argument in her own 
hands; but did ever a man behave in a more 
unreasonable way? She had been at fault all 
the time since their return from the West, or 
she would have known why he was so loftily 
indifferent to Genevieve and the little girl. 
If she knew that, perhaps his present attitude 
would be explained. Ah, well! Mrs. Seldon 
was not accustomed to thinking. Talking was 
more in her line. She drank a stiff toddy, went 
to bed, and was soon asleep. 


CHAPTER XVI 


As the weather grew colder Philip adopted 
the plan of riding to business with his mother 
in her car of the landaulet pattern, on the days 
that she went down for the periodical confer- 
ence with the firm. It was but a day or two 
after his talk with Mrs. Seldon that he called 
for the weekly trip. He was in the house, in 
the living-room before any one of the family 
saw him. 

‘‘Wrap yourself well, mother, it^s quite 
cool: — but, wait a minute; IVe news from 
Graeme. He’s coming ” 

“Coming here?” Katherine interrupted 
eagerly. 

“Yes, he’ll be here perhaps a few daya be- 
fore Christmas, and, I don’t like having him 
stay at a hotel — Genevieve doesn’t like him, 

and really ” he stopped, looking undecided 

and troubled. 

“Why do you hesitate, son? Let him come 
here. There’s no reason why he shouldn’t, 
and we’ll all he glad to have him.” 

“Yes, I know — but, well it’ll be all the same. 
Genevieve will say spiteful things in any case, 
and so will the rest of them, but what does it 
159 


160 


PAYING THE PIPER 


matter? If you’ll put Alex up while he’s in 
town I’ll be glad.” 

‘^So will I,” said Katherine, ‘H’m so anx- 
ious to see Dr. Graeme. This is the best news 
I’ve had for a month.” 

should say!” sneered Max with wide 
eyes. ‘^Kate said some time ago she wouldn’t 
encourage — I guess that’s the right word — 
Gus Rudolph, until she’d seen Alex Graeme. 
So now she’ll have him here at her mercy.” 

^‘At my mercy! Think of a doctor being at 
the mercy of anybody! I’ve no doubt that an 
old bachelor like Dr. Graeme will think me an 
exceedingly small proposition. But, tell me, 
Phil, wouldn’t you like me to take him into 
camp and make him your brother?” 

Phil looked at his sister very seriously. ‘Hf 
I could hope that such a rattle-pate as you 
would ever have such unparalleled luck!” 

Katherine laughed, clung to his arm and 
swung herself round in front of him, looking 
at him saucily. 

‘‘Wouldn’t it be a joke, Phil, dear? 
Wouldn’t your estimate of me rise about — oh, 
any number of points?” 

“Yes, I’d think quite a hundred per cent, 
better of you than I ever did, but, Alex; — I’m 
afraid I’d be compelled to mark his stock 
down. ’ ’ 

“No, you wouldn’t; now why would you?” 

“Because I’d lose all confidence in his judg- 
ment.” 

“Phil, that’s cruelty to animals. You’re de- 


PAYING THE PIPER 161 

stroying my confidence in myself, and thatdl 
make me awkward/^ 

my opinion that you could manage to 
get on with quite a bit less of self confidence — 
say, cut your supply in half/’ 

‘^Dear tall boy. I’ve no more confidence in 
myself than the average girl, but I do believe 
I have a fair amount of common sense, noth- 
ing fine, like the soulful sort that some folks 
have; just the field variety, grows wild — can’t 
be cultivated — if you’re not born with it you 
don’t get it.” 

Philip looked down at the sweet young face 
and held Katherine’s hands in a firm clasp. 
He looked at her as if he had forgotten every- 
thing, else. His eyes grew very serious and, as 
seriously he said: “Kate, you’re a pretty 
girl, and you’re a good girl. I don’t know of 
anything that could please me more than that 
old Alex and you should care for each other. 
But, don’t put up any game on him, I won’t 
stand for that,” and he finished with twinkl- 
ing eyes, as he clasped one hand under hpr up- 
lifted chin around her throat. 

“Oh, Phil, you unreasonable bear! Calling 
me a good girl in one breath, and in the next 
warning me not to trifle with your friend. I’d 
never attempt to fool with a doctor. My! he 
could give me a cyanide wafer on a chocolate 
cream, then do his own autopsy and swear to 
heart disease while vowing I had been quite 
destitute of a heart.” 

Philip tweaked her nose as their mother 
came in ready for their drive. 


162 PAYING THE PIPER 

The usual business talk was soon over, and 
the partners as usual, had friendly chat, and 
then the three with Jack and Philip drove to 
the Waldorf for luncheon. The party was well 
known at this great hostelry, and there was 
always an ample table in a quiet corner of the 
Palm Room, whoever might be turned away. 
As they seated themselves Mrs. Vandoren 
asked Jack about Ethel. 

‘‘Doing fairly, doctors and nurses say. Of 
course she’ll be laid up for weeks. The bruises 
about her head are found to be more serious 
than was at first supposed, and she ’s generally 
knocked out. It’s no good now saying it was 
her own foolhardiness in keeping that darkey 
— in fact there’s not much use of saying any- 
thing. ’ ’ 

“No, no, boy,” Mr. Rogers said, “let the 
little woman alone. Go to see her as often as 
the authorities will allow, and be thankful it’s 
no worse.” 

“Yes, there really is something to be thank- 
ful for. Ethel’s kept in check by doctors and 
nurses. She’s not allowed to indulge in her 
little storms ” 

“Now, isn’t that something of a privation*?” 
the elder Finley asked with twinkling eyes. 
“Isn’t it one of Ethel’s convenient justifica- 
tion theories that a small storm of temper 
clears the domestic atmosphere?” 

“Yes,” Jack answered, “but you see in the 
hospital there’s no domestic atmosphere. 
The managers have some other method of puri- 
fying the air. Yesterday when I was there 


PAYING THE PIPER 


163 


Ethel began to grow excited, and yon know 
she never gets into a still, white heat. She 
always explodes; so it was easy for the nnrse 
waiting in the corridor to hear her. She came 
in, saying: ^Really, Mrs. Finley, yon mnst not 
exert yonrself so mnch in conversation.’ 
Ethel insisted that if she was not emphatic I 
wouldn’t understand. The lady in white 
laughed, saying she thought that was a mis- 
take. She was very sure, from my general 
appearance that I could understand an ordin- 
ary tone of voice, and that the patient must 
keep in check these whirlwinds of mis-directed 
energy. It struck me that was a good defini- 
tion of a tantrum.” 

There was a general laugh, and Rogers said : 
‘‘Try to keep that in mind, my boy. There’s 
so much misdirected energy in the world.” 

When the men of the party went back to 
business, Mrs. Vandoren went up stairs to a 
committee meeeting of the Helping Hand Club. 
Their arrangements for the bazaar and the 
ball were not yet complete. She was the first 
one to arrive, but the room was in order, and 
she sat reading over a list of suggestions until 
the other members should come. It was a 
large meeting, what with the committee of ar- 
rangements, the chairmen of booths, and the 
members who had engaged to take charge of 
tables, booths, tea room, sale of tickets for the 
grand piano and the automobile, it was a busy 
session. The business part of the meeting 
was carried swiftly forward, and after two 
hours Mrs. Vandoren asked if there was any- 


164 


PAYING THE PIPEE 


thing more to be suggested or put into work- 
ing order. There was nothing offered and the 
meeting adjourned until an early day of the 
next week. 

Mrs. Perkins came to the table where Mrs. 
Vandoren sat with a number of members of 
the committee of arrangements, amongst them 
the elder Mrs. Finley and Celeste. 

‘H’m very sorry,” Mrs. Perkins said, ^Hhat 
I was so unnecessarily brutal to Ethel the 
other day at Phillip ^s. We might have put her 
in the list of patronesses and providence 
would have helped us out.” 

Mrs. Finley smiled: Don’t forget your- 

self, Mrs. Perkins, and don’t foster the habit 
of leaving too much to providence. We must 
do what needs to be done, as seen by our own 
light. It’s not best to jeopardise success even 
in small things by slip shod work. We must 
do what seems best.” 

‘‘Yes, but I suppose Ethel did that too, in 
her change of chauffeurs.” 

“Ethel is altogether lacking in judgment in 
such matters, and she’s absolutely uncontrol- 
able by ordinary means. Jack has given way 
to her too much for the sake of something that 
he mis-calls peace. Every time he lets her 
have her way against his better judgment evil 
comes of it, but she never learns anything by 
it. She seems to grow only the more head- 
strong. J ack was uneasy about that new 
chauffeur, and never rode with him but once. 
I had heard of this trip that was to be taken, 
and I was afraid that he’d do as he had done 


PAYING THE PIPER 


165 


so often; give her her way to save a storm. 
Several times that day I went to the telephone 
intending to call him and urge him not to go, 
but Ethel continually charges me with inter- 
ference, and I refrained. Later I learned that 
Mr. Finley had told Jack that I was anxious, 
and though there was a scene in the presence 
of — I donT know how many persons, he didn’t 
go.” 

‘‘Ma Finley,” and Celeste’s voice was what 
her husband called liquid velvet, ‘‘You do 
wrong as well as Jack. You’ve both allowed 
Ethel to walk over you rough shod. There’s 
no telling what I might do if you and Carey 
treated me the same way.’’ 

“You!” and Mrs. Finley looked at her 
handsome and elegant daughter-in-law with 
undisguised affection, while those about the 
table laughed, and those near her caressed and 
patted her as she might one of her own little 
boys. 

“No, I don’t believe that Jack and I ever 
could have lived in peace with Ethel, even if 
we had begun at the first to try to control her. 
You see, whenever there has been the least 
difference of opinion she gets angry and ex- 
cited, and storms, and actually often goes into 
screaming hysterics. While they lived with 
me I felt that I could bear anything rather 
than these tantrums. Really, there was no 
peace in the house while she was there, and 
not one of the family knew what to do. It 
was a new experience for us all.” 

“And to think how she was tormenting the 


166 


PAYING THE PIPER 


life out of us all last year at this season/’ said 
Mrs. Vandoren. ‘Ht seems like a nightmare 
when I recall it all, and the tragic death of that 
foolish little freak.” 

‘‘And still you tolerate her, and invite her 
to your house,” Celeste said reproachfully. 

“So do you, and so does this dear mother- 
in-law of yours. 

“You see it’s ditferent. We must. There’s 
Jack, you know.” 

“Yes, I think of Jack, too. I couldn’t cease 
to consider Jack any more than I could leave 
one of my own boys out of my list of young 
people.” 

“There’s no use of denying, here amongst 
old personal friends,” the elder Mrs. Finley 
said, “that Jack’s wife is a great trial. But 
I have an abiding faith in the ultimate triumph 
of the right. So great is my faith, I am almost 
ready to subscribe to the non-resistance theory. 
I have grown to feel sorry for persons who 
do little, spiteful, malicious things. There’s 
no need of doing special battle against them, 
the punishment is sure to follow. I have often 
felt an absolute pity for Ethel when she has 
been most stubborn and wrong-headed.” 

Celeste’s dark eyes flashed, and her scarlet 
mouth was set in very resolute lines as she 
said: “I’ve felt like shaking her when I’ve 
heard of some of the mean things she’s said 
about good old Jack and some of the rest of 
the family. I guess not many tears would have 
been shed if ” 

This last Celeste had said in a low tone to 


PAYING THE PIPER 167 

Mrs. Perkins, wlio answered with a nod, and 
an emphatic guess not!’^ 

As they passed along the corridor there 
came the sound of singing to piano accompani- 
ment from a room where a screen was set be- 
fore an open door. A placard hung on the 
screen and advertised the occupants as ‘‘Help- 
ers for the Friendless.’’ 

Mrs. Vandoren and Mrs. Finley smiled at 
each other as they heard the voices of the 
women singing, “Rescue the perishing.” 

“It’s a good thing to do, if they’ll only do 
it.” 

“Yes, Mrs. Seldon is so much in earnest.” 

“Ma Finley, do you think Mrs. Seldon will 
turn her attention to some of her own mem- 
bers?” and Celeste looked demurely into the 
serene face of her mother-in-law. 

“She may find it necessary to use a bit of 
white wash.” 

“What a pity one of her ablest lieutenants 
is laid up for repairs,” said Mrs. Perkins.” 

“For this, and other blessings let us be truly 
thankful,” murmured Celeste. “Only the day 
before the accident Carey and I were wonder- 
ing if our Christmas would be spoiled as usual. 
Now all is beautiful. The two little girls are 
to be brought home. I’m going to make a 
small party for them and my boys and the 
little Lathams— oh, a few others, of course, 
and no doubt, while Jack’s daughters are at 
home they’ll be taken to the hospital to see 
poor, dear Mama in a clean nightie for once, 
and with her hair in decent order. It will be 


168 PAYING THE PIPEK 

a sight for them to tell their grand-children 
of.’^ 

‘^Well, she’s about as hopeless a woman as 
IVe ever met, but, perhaps this accident will 
teach her a lesson.” 

‘^There’s plenty of room for expectation, 
but I don’t believe she’ll ever be different, ex- 
cepting some way is discovered to give her an 
entirely new head. Carey vows by all his med- 
ical skill that she’s not really sane — like our 
nurse — a Swedish girl,” and Celeste laughed; 
‘‘She saw Ethel in a tempest one day and she 
said, ‘oh, sure Mrs. Finley, and Mr. Jack’s 
wife isn’t all there.’ Considering her quality, 
there’s too much of her there.” 


CHAPTER XVII 


Mrs. Vandoren had been at home long 
enough to exchange her street dress for a din- 
ner gown of black velvet and cream-colored 
lace when Mrs. Seldon was announced. 

^‘Mrs. Seldon? oh, certainly — this way, Jar- 
vis, don’t stay there near the window. The 
Drive and the river look bleak in the late after- 
noon of these short dark days. Come and sit 
here by the fire, and Christine will give us some 
tea. I’ve been away since morning and I’m 
very tired.” 

“I’ve had a busy day too. You’re alone?” 

“Yes, I think Max has not come in yet, and 
Katherine and Louise are upstairs, planning 
their dresses for the bazaar and ball at New 
Year.” 

“Well, I hope there will be no more calami- 
ties. Poor Ethel ; we miss her so much in our 
conferences. She was so ready with sugges- 
tions of ways and means, and now to think 
she’s lying, bruised and broken and helpless. 
If her husband had been with her, as he should 
have been, it wouldn’t have happened.” 

“Do you think so? What could he have 
done? He might have been hurt, too;— no 
doubt he would have been.” 

169 


170 


PAYING THE PIPER 


^‘Even so, lie should have taken the chance 
as well as she. A man has no right to require 
his wife to economize at the expense of risk- 
ing her life. Jack sees now what has come by 
saving a few dollars on the salary of a chauf- 
feur; — and then to send her out alone. 

‘^Mrs. Seldon, you are certainly mistaken. 
Philip distinctly heard Ethel tell Jack that the 
man came highly recommended, and she had 
agreed to pay him the same salary they had 
paid Swartz. Jack disapproved of the change 
from the first and never rode with the new man 
but once.’’ 

“That’s Jack’s story; but Ethel told me to- 
day that she had changed because Mr. Finley 
was dissatisfied with Swartz and thought he 
was paid too much.” 

“You know as well as I do that speaking 
falsely is one of Ethel’s small sins. She took 
her own course, as many persons know; and 
for once her stubborness has brought direct 
punishment. As usual, she is trying to shirk 
her own responsibility. If she could only see 
how foolish her behaviour is, there would be 
hope for her; but she’s determined to prove 
to the Finleys that she has individuality of her 
own, and she has, of a most disagreeable type; 
and she’s constantly trespassing on the tenets 
of common decency.” 

“Of course, she’s different from the Finleys. 
They don’t like her, poor child; and so noth- 
ing she does pleases them. You, so closely as- 
sociated with them, for so long, ought to he 
able to see that they are a high-headed set.” 


PAYING THE PIPEE 171 

Mrs. Vandoren smiled, moved to the tea 
table, filled the cups and waited for Christine 
to leave the room before answering. 

find the Finleys not only high-headed, 
but high-minded as well. WeVe been asso- 
ciated in business and as friends for about 
thirty years. IVe known the boys ever since 
they were little fellows, and I have nothing to 
say of them but the best that can be said of 
well-born, well-bred men. Ethel has caused a 
great deal of unhappiness in the family, and 
if she doesn’t do worse it will astonish those 
who know her best.” 

<< There’s no telling what Jack will drive 
her to in the end.” 

‘‘No? If she isn’t a bit more prudent, he 
will be driven into Jhe divorce court. ’ ’ 

“You speak of divorce very carelessly; as 
if it was a small matter. No doubt it is be- 
cause it’s familiar to your thought, since 
there’s a threatened divorce in your own 
family.” 

“In my own family!” and Mrs. Vandoren 
held the sugar tongs suspended over her cup. 
“I don’t understand you, Mrs. Seldom” 

“No, I suppose not, though you must have 
seen how miserable Genevieve is.” 

“Yes, I’ve seen that she seems unhappy, and 
so is Philip; but to speak of divorce in con- 
nection with them, is, to say the least, making 
a great deal out of what looks to me like a 
settled and well understood indifference on 
both sides.” 

“I hope you may be right. Has Philip said 


172 


PAYING THE PIPEE 


anything to you about Genevieve’s condition?” 

^‘Not a word.” 

wish you’d talk to him. I’ve tried to, but 
he takes a high hand with me, and I do so wish 
we could come to an understanding and a set- 
tlement with the Trinity people! Philip, be- 
ing a business man, of course, puts a money 
value on everything, even his wife and child. 
If we could once come into possession of our 
own, then his business and real estate interests 
would be quite small by comparison. He 
would perhaps appreciate his position as hus- 
band of one of the wealthiest women in Amer- 
ica. This, and the fact that we are one of the 
oldest families in the state would surely have 
its influence.” 

Mrs. Vandoren smiled patiently. There 
was not the flutter of an eyelid, nor the least 
change of color or expression of her calm 
face. 

“No doubt Philip would be pleased, as we 
all would, if you could recover from Trinity. 
Does Mr. Seldon think there’s a prospect of 
an early settlement?” 

“Mr. Seldon is indolent about it. If ’twas 
his own family fortune he would put the mat- 
ter through in a hurry, but, man-fashion, he 
doesn’t want his wife to be independent of 
him. ’ ’ 

“It’s a great pity if he should wilfully let 
a fortune slip by him because of a rather fool- 
ish sentiment. Perhaps that is the way of 
professional men. Nowadays, many business 


PAYING THE PIPEE 173 

men are careful to make their wives independ- 
ent because of business risks/ ^ 

'‘Yes, I know; and that's another thing I 
want to speak to you about. This house that 
Genevieve's living in— she'd feel so much 
more at home if she owned it. Now she says 
she feels as if she was not much beyond paup- 
erism — living in another woman's house. It 
seems to me it would be only fair for her to 
have it in her own right. What provision 
would there be for her if anything happened 
to Philip?" 

' ' The same that my other children, and chil- 
dren-in-law have. My will is in the hands of 
John Trent, and has been for years. I am 
carrying out the provision made for our chil- 
dren in the will of my husband, I am under 
bond to make no division of my real estate 
during my life excepting by sales or by will." 

"Seems to me, that was the will of a man 
who must have been money-mad ; — ^keeping 
your children out of their own, as well as de- 
priving those whom they marry of what they 
might reasonably expect." 

Mrs. Vandoren's chin was slightly elevated: 
"You know, Mr. Vandoren's death was very 
sudden. He was in the best of health at the 
time, and of undoubtedly sound mind. We 
had talked this matter over frequently as his • 
business increased and his real estate rose in 
value. It was because we could not possibly 
know what sort of marriages our children 
might make that the real estate is left as it is. 


174 PAYING THE PIPEE 

We^re throwing out no lure for fortune hunt- 
ers.’’ 

Mrs. Seldon’s florid face grew a shade red- 
der. 

'‘And, as the law now stands, you can do 
just as you please with all this property?” 

"Absolutely, by will, or by sale.” 

There was a pause, and then Mrs. Vandoren 
resumed:^ "You said you wished me to speak 
to Philip about Genevieve’s state of health. 
Eeally, though he and I have, since his child- 
hood talked over everything, positively every- 
thing, still, in this matter, I cannot take the in- 
itiative. He must speak first.” 

"Well, I’m at my wit’s end. She’s so un- 
happy. I never saw anything like it. I do 
wish she was well through with it. I can’t 
understand why he’s so averse.” 

"It’s a great pity for all concerned. It has 
always seemed to me that the child of an un- 
willing, rebellious mother is most unfortun- 
ate.” 

"Yes, that’s true. I’ve been trying to in- 
terest Genevieve in our "Help for the Friend- 
less” club; and she was with me to-day, but 
she’s so listless when she’s not sobbing and 
crying. To-day we adopted that beautiful 
hymn, "Eescue the perishing,” as a part of 
our program for every meeting. You know 
it’s very touching, and Genevieve quite lost 
all control of herself while we were singing. 
She was always very sensitive, and I suppose 
now her leading traits are more on the sur- 
face.” 


PAYING THE PIPER 


175 


^^No doubt ’’ 

They were interrupted by Max coming in 
hastily. 

“Motherkins, — oh, good evening, Mrs. Sel- 
don — here’s an afternoon paper — there’s been 
an accident on the Denver and Rio Grande, 
and here’s the list of names of the dead and 
injured — look. Dr. Alexander Graeme, of San 
Francisco. It was only this morning that Phil 
said he was coming, and would be here about 
Christmas. There must be some mistake.” 

‘‘Yes, Philip did say, a day or two before 
Christmas, and here he comes,” as Philip came 
in from the hall, holding in his hand a slip of 
yellow paper. 

“Oh, you’ve had a wire! What about the 
accident?” Max asked eagerly. 

“You mean Alex? It’s like Mark Twain 
said of the report of his own death some time 
ago — ‘greatly exaggerated.’ Alex was shaken 
up and bruised some, but not hurt so badly 
as to be past tearing his shirt into strips to 
bandage the wounds of others.” 

“Didn’t you say he’d be here about Christ- 
mas?” 

“Yes; he’s to stop off at Denver for several 
days for a medical men’s convention. I knew 
you’d get the news of the accident, and Alex 
knew that I would. The Denver papers have 
him killed, too, simply because he was too busy 
to stand still and be counted.” 

Mrs. Seldon rose to go. “Max,” and Philip 
turned to his brother, “go with Mrs. Seldon 
to the street. My machine’s at the door. Put 


176 


PAYING THE PIPER 


her in, and tell Briggs to take her home;’’ and 
answering Mrs. Seldon’s protest: ‘‘No, no, 
Mrs. Seldon; it’s dark and cold, and here are 
two long blocks to the Broadway trolley and 
two more from Forty-second to your house. 
I’ll walk home from here; good night,” and he 
hurried her to the door. 


CHAPTER XVIII 


Mrs. Finley, senior, had sent ont cards for 
lier first “at home,’’ a week before Ethel met 
with her accident, and now, after going to see 
her every day since, she decided not to recall 
h^r invitations. The doctors and nurses at 
the hospital assured her that time was all that 
was necessary to affect a complete recovery. 
Still, on the morning before her reception in 
the afternoon, she went with J ack to call upon 
Ethel, so that she would give her guests the 
very latest news. It was in the middle of the 
forenoon that mother and son sat on opposite 
sides of her bed, and heard Ethel’s complaints. 
Her head was almost covered with bandages 
and she said querulously: “I guess if I ever 
get over this. I’ll he compelled to wear a wig. 
My hair is nearly all shaved off. ’ ’ 

“Oh, no,” Mrs. Finley said cheerfully, “let 
us hope that your hair will grow in heavier 
and stronger. You know sometimes hair spe- 
cialists prescribe shaving of the head where 
the growth is weak.” 

“Tell you, Ethel, if you have to wear a wig, 
it’ll save a lot of bother. You can just whip 
it off, tell one of the maids to put it in order, 
177 


178 


PAYING THE PIPER 


and put it on again. You never like to comb 
your hair, now do you?” 

was never sufficiently vain of my hair, 
nor of my face, to spend as much time with 
them as some folks do — Celeste, for instance.” 

‘^Well, no; canT say that you were ever 
vain of your hair, but you might, just for the 
sake of the innocent spectator, have introduced 
it and the brush occasionally. I guess Celeste 
does spend some time with her hair, but it 
pays.” 

^^Oh, go on, now that I’m helpless. You 
never had any sympathy for me, no matter 
what ailed me, and you haven’t now, even 
when I’m cooped up here in this miserable 
place instead of being at home, where I ought 
to be. Of course, you’re going about as if 
nothing had happened.” 

‘‘Would it make you more comfortable to 
know that I mope in some corner out of busi- 
ness hours?” 

“I don’t expect you to mope, nor do any- 
thing but have a good time; but, if I was at 
home, I suppose you’d perhaps have some lit- 
tle regard for appearances.” 

“Surely, Ethel,” Mrs. Finley said, “you 
can be better cared for here than at home. I 
heard you say, not many days ago that you 
had very inefficient help.” 

“The help would not be expected to take 
care of me. I suppose I might be afforded a 
nurse.” 

“Yes, you’d have to have two; and then 
those Hibernians would leave — they told me 


PAYING THE PIPER 


179 


so. You’re much better here;” and Mrs, Fin- 
ley was glad to see Jack look and speak like 
the master of the situation. 

‘‘Oh, of course it’s all right. The whole 
family can wash their hands of me. If they 
had to take care of me it would hinder them 
from having a good time.” 

Mrs. Finley smiled and shook her head at 
Jack. 

“Surely, it would make some difference — 
having an invalid in the house; but the dis- 
comfort would be with you, almost entirely. 
There are no cooks in the family excepting 
hired ones, and your nurses wouldn’t stay if 
they were not well provided for. You’d better 
face the fact, Ethel, that we’re all doing the 
best we can for you. Keep yourself calm and 
as well contented as you can ; — such a pity you 
don’t care for reading. It would help pass the 
time. ’ ’ 

“The doctor’s wouldn’t let me read. The 
idea of proposing such a thing with my injured 
head!” 

“Mrs. Finley, no excitement, or your visit- 
ors must go at once, ’ ’ said a nurse just outside 
the door. 

Ethel looked sulky and all were silent for 
a moment, then she asked: “Have you had 
the machine repaired?” 

“No, I had it looked at, and decided it was 
not worth repairing. I guess it’s in Kessler’s 
Junk house.” 

“Then we’ll have to get a new one.” 

“Perhaps, in the spring.” 


180 


PAYING THE PIPER 


‘^How am I to go about wlien I get out of 
here? I can’t walk, and I’ll have a lot of calls 
to make.” 

‘^You’ll not be expected to walk. There are 
plenty of carriages for hire, and that’ll be 
more profitable than keeping a motor car with 
the probability of another wreck. If a hired 
carriage is smashed by i^he owner’s driver it’ll 
be no affair of mine.” 

‘‘You talk as if it was my fault that the car 
was wrecked.” 

“I believe you’re the person who changed 
drivers. ’ ’ 

“How could I know that the new man wasn’t 
skillful? He said he was, and I saw his cer- 
tificate. I didn’t know anything else about 
him. ’ ’ 

“Of course, you didn’t know, and, though 
I’m not responsible for that, any more than I 
am for the millions of other things you don’t 
know, just the same the cost of it comes on me. 
If I get another machine, I serve notice now, 
that I shall hire the chauffeur, and I’ll keep 
him as long as he pleases me.” 

“Of course you’ll have your own way about 
everything, just as you’ve always had,” and 
as Ethel turned sulky, Mrs. Finley arose to go. 

“Perhaps we’ve stayed as long as we ought. 
Good-bye, Ethel.” 

“Good-bye, I hope you’ll have a nice time 
this afternoon, you and Celeste.” 

“Thank you; I hope so, too. We came 
this morning so as to be able to give the latest 


PAYING THE PIPER 181 

news of yon to the friends who ^11 be sure to in- 
quire, good-bye.’’ 

‘‘Good-bye,” Jack said, and without the 
least pretense of a parting caress, he left the 
bedside, held the door open for his mother and 
followed her out. 

Mrs. Finley walked by him in silence. The 
sympathy she felt for this, her oldest son, 
could not be put into words. She knew that 
he spoke plainly, sometimes to his brothers, 
and also to his father, sometimes when Ethel 
had been at their offices and gave an exhibition 
of temper. On one occasion, after the storm 
was over and she had gone away. Jack had 
said: “Daddy, fancy your wife behaving that 
way.” 

The father had replied: “My son, in that 
case, I believe your father would listen to a 
verdict of justifiable homicide, or go up the 
state to the big chair, take his medicine, and 
be glad to get out of it.” 

That afternoon Mrs. Finley’s rooms were 
filled to the point of crushing for three hours, 
though there were two constant streams of 
coming and going guests. 

Katherine said to her mother as she handed 
her a cup of cocoa: “The air is full of fare- 
wells to the going, and hellos to the coming.”. 

“Yes, Mrs. Finley has many friends, and 
many others, acquaintances who would like to 
be on the first list.” 

By six-thirty the rooms had grown comfort- 
able. Mrs. Finley sat in a chair near the door 
opening into the hall and sipped a cup of tea. 


182 ; PAYING THE PIPEE 

A group of three came to say good-bye. The 
first, after expressing her enjoyment of the 
afternooii in the usual stereotyped phrase, 
asked: Dear Mrs. Finley, I suppose you re- 

ceived my letter notifying you of our accept- 
ance cvf your resignation of membership in our 
club . 

‘^Yes, and thank you. You said so many 
kindly things, I should have answered; but, 
you have a great number of letters to read, 
and I thought it would only be adding that 
much more to your work.’’ 

The second guest spoke. ‘‘Oh, Mrs. Finley; 
if you had been there and heard the many kind 
and regretful things that were said about you, 
I’m sure you would not have left us.” 

“But, if I had been there the kindly things 
wouldn’t have been said. I’ve heard of them 
from several members,” and Mrs. Finley 
laughed pleasantly: “I felt as if I was get- 
ting news of my own funeral.” 

“Why, Mrs. Finley! what a ghastly idea!” 
and “what a shocking fancy! Why should 
kindly remarks make you feel that way?” 

“You know we most usually speak well of 
the dead, and say many beautiful things about 
them, which, of course are true, but we 
wouldn’t say to them, nor of them until after 
they can’t hear us. It’s so in our clubs. You 
know there are many careless things said, 
many fiippant things and severe things; but, 
if a member sends in her resignation, then, as 
the boys say, ‘she’s a dead one,’ and stories 
are changed. It is only remembered that one 


PAYING THE PIPER^ ^ m 

of the recruits, has deserted, and her annual 
dues will be collected no more. We toss 
bouquets to her, toll the bell, and it’s all over.” 

know, Mrs. Finley,” said Mrs. Phelps, 
the oldest woman of the trio, know there is 
frequently great carelessness in our ways of 
handling the reputations of our members, but 
really, I think we only want to know the 
truth. ’ ’ 

^^Yes, I think that is the truth of the ma- 
jority, but sometimes lies are so much more 
fascinating. I have found in some instances 
that those who are readiest to organize the 
still hunt for truth, are the loudest in contra- 
diction of it when found. The lies are so much 
more to their taste. They never see anything 
to commend in the traduced one until she sends 
in her resignation. Then comes the beautiful 
sentiments and the regrets.” Mrs. Finley 
laughed and sipped the last drop of her tea. 
‘Ht’s a bit like life insurance; one must die to 
win. ’ ’ 

Others came to say their good-byes, and the 
three went out, each satisfied in her own mind 
that Mrs. Finley was very strange in her ideas 
and her fancies, and never stranger than in 
her reason for leaving their club, which, she 
had stated as: ‘‘No reason at all for going 
out; simply, there was no reason for staying 
in;” and all their importunities elicited no 
further explanation. 


CHAPTER XIX 


The formal, unsocial dinner in the elegant 
dining-room of the Philip Vandorens was over. 
The husband and wife were studiously polite 
to each other, and this evening, for a rarity, 
they had dined alone. When the last course 
was about to be brought in, Philip said: 
‘‘Kara, we’ll have coffee in the library.” 

Genevieve knew then that there was to be a 
turning point. Whenever these formal re- 
quests, or orders were issued there was to be 
a new understanding in regard to the old of- 
fence. For her it was a drum-head court- 
martial, a “Council of Ten,” a secret session 
where Philip was merciless jury, inexorable 
judge, inflexible witness and all, against her, 
the helpless, the guilty one at the bar. 

She led the way to the room and the coffee 
was served and drunk in silence. Then, as 
Philip lighted a cigar, he said very quietly: 

“I suppose that you’ve made up your mind 
as to what course you’re going to take? Per- 
haps you’re waiting for me to make the first 
move, to inaugurate the next act in our do- 
mestic drama,” and he looked across the table 
at Genevieve, steadily, coldly. 

184 


PAYING THE PIPER 185 

‘^What do you meanr’ she asked with whit- 
ening lips. 

‘‘Stop all that, now,’^ he said sternly. “You 
know very well what I mean, and I insist on 
you keeping to the point and answering me 
plainly. ’ ’ 

“What — what — has your mother been telling 
youT’ she asked barely above a whisper, and 
her wide eyes were fixed on Philipps face in 
an unwinking stare. 

“My mother has told me nothing. My 
mother-in-law has told me of your — state of 
health, and insists that I be kind, considerate, 
forbearing, patient with your whims, and gen- 
erally appreciative of your condition. 

The two gazed at each other, she with that 
dazed frightened, watchfulness; he with cold, 
cruel eyes. 

Genevieve ^s hands were shaking as she 
trifled with her coffee spoon, but Philip flicked 
the ash from his cigar with steady finger. He 
waited for her to speak. She opened her lips, 
but there was no sound excepting a hurried 
gasp as if for lack of breath. 

“It seems to me,’^ he continued, “that you 
have behaved in the most fool-hardy manner, 
unless you wish to force me to take action. 
Even so, you have no regard for decency nor 
the good name of yourself nor your family. 
Many women who find it undesirable for any 
reason, to bear children, undo their work. I 
find it impossible to understand you, except- 
ing you are allowing the atfair to develop out 
of regard for — the — man. If that is the truth, 


186 


PAYING THE PIPER 


then you will certainly be glad when you are 
free to marry him, and so will L’’ 

Genevieve raised clenched hands above her 
head and brought them down on the table with 
a crash, overturning cups and sugar bowl. 
Philip pressed a button in the wall near him 
and Kara came and carried out the tray. 

‘‘Where’s the use of these fits of temper? 
You’ve brought this situation upon yourself, 
from first to last. What do you expect? 
What could you ever have expected? Could 
I have been any more merciful than I have 
been? I can see myself now as a lunk-headed 
fool. For my forbearance, for my silence, for 
the protection I’ve given you for these last 
five years you return contempt and treachery, 
and wantonness before my face. I guess that ’s 
what I deserve, anyway, I’ve taken it. I’ve 
kept your secret; but, you certainly remember 
the one stipulation I made since coming home. 
You have seen fit to disregard it — perhaps 
when I made it, it was already too late — and 
I’ve tried ever since I suspected a second 
treachery, ever since your mother confirmed 
my suspicion, to find some excuse for you. I 
can give no guess at your reason for thus 
flaunting your infidelity before my eyes, ex- 
cepting this one; — that you are determined to 
be free, at any cost — free to acknowledge the 
other man. Well, I can almost take off my 
hat to a passion as strong as that, though I 
confess, I should never be capable of it myself.” 

Genevieve’s eyes were wild and her face 
was white as the lace of her gown, She barely 


PAYING THE PIPER 


187 


whispered: ‘H canT marry the other man. 
You donT know what you’re talking about.” 

confess I don’t know who I’m talking 
about, but, you don’t deny that you expect to 
give birth to a child within — say five or six 
months from now?” 

She grasped the edge of the table and shook 
it. 

‘‘I don’t know why my mother had to run 
to you about it. She’s certainly crazy.” 

‘‘No, I don’t believe your mother’s crazy, 
excepting on one subject — that of the Trinity 
property — I’ve always suspected her sanity 
on that, — but we’re not discussing your 
mother, nor her expectations. Both she and 
the Trinity Corporation are nothing — less 
than nothing to me. What I want to know is, 
what you have decided to do in our own af- 
fair?” 

“How can I decide on anything?” 

“It seems to me that you have decided al- 
ready. I told you what would be the conse- 
quence of a second otfence. Knowing this, 
you have deliberately offended a second time. 
Still, I want to be as decent as I can be. I 
don’t want to be unnecessarily brutal. If you 
have any suggestions to make, I’m ready to 
hear them.” 

“But you’re determined to have an absolute 
divorce ? ’ ’ 

“I am.” 

“Even if I — oh, I meant to get out of this 
trouble, but something always prevented. 
“You meant to keep it secret? 


188 


PAYING THE PIPER 


‘‘Of course, what difference could it have 
made to you?^’ 

“None whatever, as long as I knew nothing, 
but now that I know, getting out of it, as you 
call this horrible criminal action, would make 
no difference. I will no longer sacrifice my 
self-respect by supporting, and allowing my 
name to be borne by another man^s mistress. 
I can’t spare the time to gain a residence in 
another state so as to bring suit on some less 
disgraceful charge, and I won’t allow you to 
sue. ’ ’ 

“What provision will you make for me?” 

“None whatever. After I tell my story in 
court, if you insist on carrying the matter that 
far, no jury in the world, or at least in this 
state, w:ould award you one penny of alimony. 
I have provided for you all these years. Your 
allowance has been in keeping with my posi- 
tion. You’ve had as much as the young Finley 
women have had, and our expenses, outside 
your dress and housekeeping, have been more 
than theirs. Considering these and other facts 
in the premises, it’s about time for your father 
to shoulder the responsibility of his ill-bred 
daughter. Your mother, too — she may care to 
‘Rescue the perishing’ in her own family.” 

Genevieve sprang from her chair and 
stormed up and down the room: 

“Oh, you’re brutal! You despise my poor 
mother as well as me.” 

“You contradict yourself. I may possibly 
be brutal, but, the very fact that I hold myself 
above and beyond a certain sort of women, is 


PAYING THE PIPER 189 

proof positive to the contrary. It argues that 
I am highly civilized and law-abiding.’^ 

He threw the stub of his cigar into the grate 
and rose from his chair. Genevieve still 
stormed up and down the room, trailing her 
beautiful lace over the soft-toned rugs, and 
weeping convulsively. There was a knock at 
the door. She turned and half hid herself in 
a window drapery as Kara entered and an- 
nounced the motor car at the door. 

‘‘All right,” Philip answered, “I’ll be out at 
once.” 

As the door closed Genevieve turned as if to 
question. 

“I’m going to the station to meet Alex 
Graeme ; ’ ’ and he left the room. 

Genevieve stood as if turned to stone. She 
heard the car leave the door, but still she stood, 
white and motionless. “Alex Graeme!” she 
breathed: “the witness against me!” There 
was a tap at the door and Onoto, the child’s 
nurse, came in : 

“If you please. Madam, will you come and 
say good-night to Miss Annetje?” 

Genevieve meant to answer; she opened her 
pallid lips, but no sound came from them. The 
girl waited a moment, then left the room. 

Genevieve, feeling stiff and lifeless, followed 
slowly. She was conscious of a vague wonder 
as to why she felt so lifeless; so incapable of 
any but the slowest, most labored movement. 
Only a few minutes ago she was walking rap- 
idly, and feeling that the room, the whole house 
was too small for her. She wished she might go 


190 


PAYING THE PIPER 


on the street, and run with all her strength. 
She had been weeping and talking above her 
ordinary tones. Now, her eyes were dry and 
burning, and her voice was far down in her 
throat. She leaned over the child in her beau- 
tiful crib, all white and gold, clasped the little 
claw-like hands and kissed her, whispering so 
low as to be almost unheard: ^‘Good-night, 
Annetje, good-night, mother’s dear little girl.” 

“Mama sick? Misteh Van cross to Mama?” 
the child asked fretfully. 

“No, dear. Mama’s not sick, and Mr. Van’s 
gone out. Now go to sleep and to-morrow 
’Noto will take you out to see all the pretty 
Christmas things. ” 

She went into her own rooms. The light was 
soft, falling through rose-colored shades on 
rose and white furnishings. Genevieve looked 
about her, taking notes of the beautiful and 
luxurious things that filled the rooms, as if 
seeing them for the first time, or as in fare- 
well. The curtains were drawn over the win- 
dows that looked on the river. She drew back 
the draperies and run the shade to the top of 
a wide window in the middle of the wall. 
There was a faint moon-light, and it had its 
effect in spite of the many white electric lights 
up and down the Drive. 

Genevieve turned out the light, and sat close 
by the window. The season had l3een mild, and 
there was no ice, excepting a thin bordering 
close in shore. The river was black save where 
an anchored or a passing boat made a splotch 
or a wavering gleam of yellow light. The wind 


PAYING THE PIPER 


191 


was rising, and there was that incessant boom- 
ing noise so melancholy to the unaccustomed 
ear. To Genevieve it seemed the beating of 
enormous, muffled drums, and the soughing 
of the wind was the stealthy marching of thou- 
sands of list-clad feet. 

She had not grown to recognize the night 
sounds of the river, nor was she in the least 
familiar with them. They were full of mys- 
tery and menace. And yet, as she sat gazing 
out on the water, with its yellow lights here 
and there, and the faint moonlight over it all, 
she thought that the fearsome black stream 
might prove a friend to her. Why not? How 
soon she might disentangle herself from the 
horrid web that she herself had woven. And yet, 
how trifling things stay in one^s memory. She 
thought of a boy friend who had been drowned 
long ago. He was an expert swimmer, and 
many wondered how he could drown. Why 
had he not swam? Then, too, how could she 
drown? Would she not instinctively, uncon- 
sciously exert herself? She who had swam in 
the rough surf of both great oceans, surely she 
would defeat her own purpose in this big slug- 
gish river. However, if she could by no pos- 
sibility drown, still, the cold might so benumb 
her that she would lose the power of action, 
and then she would perish and bury her 
trouble with her. Perhaps she would remain 
in the water long enough to destroy her iden- 
tity ; perhaps the tide would be kind and carry 
her out to the sea. This thought, the thought 
of the cold as her helper made her eager, alert. 


192 


PAYING THE PIPEE 


If slie should go now, and drop into the river, 
— there was a great flash of light, here, there, 
far ahead, on either side, sudden, swift and 
blinding. 

‘‘Ah!’’ she breathed. “The river patrol! 
impertinence!” and she twisted her fingers in 
fierce resentment, as if she had but felt the 
chill of the icy waters and then the rough 
hands of the police as they dragged her into 
their boat. She fancied their coarse jests, 
their bold questioning. How would they get 
her out of her drenched clothing! Oh, this 
would be unbearable. Then they would take 
her to a station house, and she would be put 
into a cell in the care of the matron. After 
some time she would be arraigned before a 
police magistrate: she would be identified and, 
oh, the shocking publicity of it all ! It was too 
horrid to think of, though it had seemed such 
a quick and convenient thing to do. 

She shivered and shrunk back from the 
window. 

“Oh no! not that way, no, not that way out 
of all this.” 

Genevieve’s life of luxury, her natural taste 
for the cleanly and the beautiful could not 
brook the thought of death, though now death 
seemed the one desirable thing in the world, if 
it must be accomplished with coarseness, ex- 
posure, and contact with the lower strata of 
the life of the city. 

“No, there are decent, cleanly ways of going 
out of life, if I must go,” and again she sat 
gazing out, but seeing, not the river, not the 


PAYING THE PIPER 


193 


lights, nothing but her own deplorable posi- 
tion. She faced her dire need of doing some- 
thing, anything, anything that would prevent 
open disgrace. But, even if she should die, 
would not Philip then, in ridding himself of 
the child, betray her secret! Would not Alex 
Graeme aid and abet him? Would they not, to 
corroborate their words bring the public reg- 
istry of Annetje’s birth? 

‘^Oh, if I must die. I’ll walk the earth for- 
ever. I’ll follow those two men day and night. 
I’ll whisper my hate into their ears at all 
hours. They shall hear me, see me, feel my 
ghostly fingers on their throats. The idea of 
Philip saying I can marry the — other — man!” 

She laughed aloud. ‘Hf he ever knows, 
what a fool he’ll think himself, and,” she 
laughed again: ^‘it may humble his damnable 
pride a bit when he knows who is his rival. 
How I would like to see it. There’s always 
comfort, and this will be mine, if I find I must 
live through it.” 

She turned from the window and looked 
about the room. Her eyes, accustomed to the 
dim light, noted every object. Absently, she 
unclasped the rope of pearls from her neck 
and a brooch from her bodice. I could live for 
some time on these. A mysterious disappear- 
ance might serve. These and my other jewels 
would support me for six months at least. In 
that case the medical men would talk learnedly 
about the vagaries incident to my state of 
health. Such fools as many of them are, and 
my mother talking to Phil and even to me 


m PAYING THE PIPER 

about such — rot! No insane fancy could in 
any degree equal the true situation.’’ 

There was a tap at the door, and her maid 
Katsu came in: 

‘‘Oh, Madam, will you not be undressed? 
It ’s very late, and madam must be weary. ’ ’ 
“Is it late, Katsu!” 

“After twelve, madam.” 

“Has Mr. Vandoren come in!” 

“Yes, madam, quite an hour ago.” 

“Make a light then. I was enjoying the 
sight of the river.” 

“Oh, Madam, the great river is lonely. It 
makes me sad.” 

“Yes, Katsu, but we need to be sad some- 
times when we remember our sins.” 


CHAPTEE XX 


When Katsu left the room Genevieve hared 
the window that looked on the river, and she 
lay gazing out on the black water. As the 
honrs sped on the waning moon made a path 
of light from the Jersey Shore. She wondered 
if she would ever again know the luxury of 
drowsiness, here under the roof of her bitter 
enemy; all the enemy she had in the world. 
She had been, as a girl, tactful, obliging. She 
had never made enemies as had her mother 
and sister. But her very kindliness, her will- 
ingness to please had been her destruction. 
The pleasure she could not refrain from af- 
fording one man had made an unforgiving 
enemy of another; and that other the man to 
whom she had publicly pledged her love, her 
honor, her faith, an‘d all ‘the supposed inno- 
cence of her young womanhood. 

Alex Graeme, he, too, was somewhere in the 
city, somewhere lying in wait, ready at any 
hour to come forward and condemn her from 
the standpoint of the medical practitioner who 
had refused his aid. He had known of that 
earlier offence, and with a better understand- 
ing of it than had Philip. These two;— oh, 
and she threw her clenched hands from under 
195 


196 


PAYING THE PIPEE 


the bed clothing; if these two could die before 
the dawn! But, then, had not Philip warned 
her that her secret would not die with him? 
Had he not made a will? Oh, trust the Van- 
dorens to have all their business systematized, 
everything in good order from the servants^ 
bed rooms in the house of her mother-in-law 
to her houses and building lots, and her in- 
terests in the importing house. What might 
not old John Trent know? — what was there 
about the family affairs that he did not know? 
For over thirty years his long bony hands had 
held the keys to the Vandoren wealth; for all 
this time his big square jaw had snapped out 
short questions, and snapped shut again, and 
his black eyes under heavy, overhanging 
brows had bored into the hidden motives of 
any who had sought to advantage themselves 
at the cost of his favorite clients. How he 
would scorn her when the time came, when the 
whole story should be told with Alex Graeme 
as witness. 

What an idiotic thing she had done! First 
and last, was there ever a greater fool of a 
woman than she had been? She heard Annetje 
fret and whimper, and the voice of the nurse 
soothing her. Annetje had always been a 
peevish, nervous child, waking several times 
, during the night; but now, with the familiar 
sound, there came to Genevieve a swift vision 
of a woman, poor, alone, cowering in the storm 
and darkness of a wintry night. She was 
wrapped in a coarse, ragged mantle, that con- 
^cealed her face and the child she held in her 


PAYING THE PIPER 


197 


arms. She might be in a city street, she might 
be on a lonely country road, or on the wide, 
open prairie far out in the West, or she might 
be crouching on the bank of a black and icy 
river. She saw it all as in a kaleidoscope. The 
woman rocked and crooned hoarsely to the 
wailing baby, crying weakly because it was 
hungry. 

‘‘I wonder who she is,’^ Genevieve whis- 
pered. The vision was very real. ‘Hf the 
wind blows her hood aside a little. I’ll see if 
she looks like — ^Yes, it’s my face as it will grow 
to be if I go out and away — if I take only what 
I can carry with me. I wonder if it wouldn’t 
be better — if she’d stay by the river — it’s so 
lonely here, and there’s no patrol, and, with 
the clothing and the baby — they’d soon drown. 
Ah! what is that floating down over the sur- 
face of the water? Not fog, not mist, it’s too 
divided for that, too clearly defined against 
the background of the high bank. It looks like 
a great company of shouded figures, heads 
bowed, arms folded and trailing their long, 
snowy garments on the surface of the water.” 

Genevieve sat up in bed and stared out 
through the uncurtained window. She had lost 
her own identity and her own place. She and 
the miserable, tattered, wanderer were one. 
She felt within her arms a half starved baby, 
a fretful, wizened little creature, whose tiny 
bones seemed ready to disjoint themselves. 
She gazed fixedly on the white company of 
phantoms whose trailing garments glistened 
in the moonlight as they wavered cloud-like 


198 


PAYING THE PIPER 


down the river. They came nearer, and to her 
horror-wide eyes, and to her whole terror-filled 
consciousness it was revealed that these were 
phantoms, uneasy ghosts of those who had 
died by violence. There were old men, and 
women, young men and maidens, and even lit- 
tle children. ‘‘Oh,’’ she moaned, “some of 
them are so very little! The river has washed 
away the cemeteries up in the country.” Still 
they came, nearer and nearer. Many were 
blown this way and that, disappearing in all 
directions, floating away like ragged fleecy 
clouds. As she continued to gaze, a voice from 
somewhere whispered like the sighing of wind 
through ice-laden boughs: “These are yours. 
Our sins always come home to us. Soon or 
late we must bear the burden.” Then uncer- 
tainly, waveringly, now veering to one side, 
now for a space coming directly, three tiny 
things were wafted to her, and with their 
finger bones clung to her hands, her hair, her 
ragged cloak, and laid their little white skulls 
against her face. “Oh, Mother of God!” she 
screamed, “how can I bear this?” 

“Madam! Madam! wake!” and she felt 
Onoto’s hands about her shoulders, striving to 
lift her. She looked at the girl, at her bed 
coverings and at the unshaded window. She 
even passed her hands over her shoulders, and 
about her face. 

“Oh, then it was a dream? Is it morning?” 

“Yes, Madam, but not quite light — not six. 
Madam must have slept badly. She should not 


PAYING THE PIPER 199 

have her window unshaded. The moon always 
brings troubled dreams.’’ 

“Do you think it was the moon, Onoto?” 

The girl laughed: “Perhaps Madam’s din- 
ner, ” 

‘ ‘ Onoto, it was neither the moon nor my din- 
ner. My dream was true. Oh, girl, it was 
true! that’s the horror of it. Draw down the 
shade here, and raise that one to the south. 
I want the first light of the morning, but, oh 
me, I don’t want to see the river. Onoto, be 
good. Do nothing in secret that you wouldn’t 
do openly. Our sins come back to us, soon or 
late, — that was said in my dream, and that’s 
why my dream is true. No, it wasn’t the 
moon nor, — 

“Noto, Noto,” Annetje called. 

“Go to the child, Onoto,” Genevieve said. 
“Oh,” she sighed, as she was left alone, “I 
shall feel the clinging of those bony fingers 
and the chill of those white little skulls as long 
as I live. And to think, all those ghosts were 
of persons who had been murdered. Ah!” and 
she shivered, “how many people, up and down, 
and all over the country had dreams of terror 
last night. Those white wraiths were scat- 
tering all the time. But, my dream is at fault 
— they were so very little.” She sat up in bed 
with wide eyes, and unconsciously moved her 
open hands apart as if measuring. “I saw 
them. They were— so — very little. In my 
dream they were too big.” 

She sat for some time, hands lying limply, 
staring straight before her. “Ah, well! I 


200 


PAYING THE PIPER 


may as well get up and be ready for whatever 
is on the tablet of fate for this day. Vve been 
indolent lately, sending cards to too many 
houses instead of taking to these fool recep- 
tions my gracious presence. IT reform all 
that. IT make a dash now for — well, perhaps 
it will be the prologue of the play, whichever 
it turns out to be — death or divorce. I’ll be 
in the spot-light. The centre of the stage is 
mine. Young Mrs. Vandoren, not handsome, 
but exceedingly stylish, will be seen at every 
function that is worth mentioning, for — the 
next week or two at least. I’ll make folks re- 
member me, for a while. No matter what the 
end. I’ll give them a first-class sensation.” 

‘H’ve no idea what will be the regulation 
thing for Phil to do first. I must ask Jansen. 
Just incidentally. I’ll go to mother’s this even- 
ing for dinner. After I know what to expect. 
I’ll know my own lines as well. I’ll be able to 
take my cue from what Jan. says. Let me see: 
— to-day there is the morning meeting of 
Mother’s ‘Help for the Friendless’ club — oh, 
but that makes me sick!” and Genevieve 
sprang out of bed. The sudden movement 
made her dizzy, and she staggered to a chair 
near the open window: “Oh, the damnation 
of being a woman — and a fool to boot ! ’ ’ 

The chill air, and the exertion of her sti^b- 
born will revived her. Her maid came in as 
she emerged from her bath, and, in a most be- 
coming negligee gown she went to the breakfast 
room. Philip was already there, and they 
greeted each other as strangers might, with 


PAYING THE PIPER 


201 


the exception that mere acquaintances would 
perhaps have smiled, or at least have looked 
friendly. 

‘‘How long will Dr. Graeme be in townP’ 
Genevieve asked. 

“A month — perhaps six or seven weeks. He 
expects to sail for Europe sometime in Febru- 
ary.’’ 

Her thought was, there may not be much of 
a hurry after all. I’ll have plenty of time, and 
something may happen to take the decision out 
of my hands. However, that may be, I shall 
keep myself in the eye of the beastly public 
till the crash comes. 

True to this resolve, she called for her 
mother, and together they went to the meeting 
of the “Help for the Friendless.” It was re- 
marked that day by several that, never before 
had they seen Genevieve in such high spirits, 
nor so handsome. They did not know as ac- 
curately as she did the art of “making up.” 
After her bad night she found herself pale, 
hollow-eyed, and languid. Facial massage, 
well understood by her Japanese maid, and 
fine cosmetics gave the necessary color, while 
the application of certain drugs lent an un- 
usual brilliancy to her eyes. Further, why 
should one be dull and listless when a glass of 
champagne will tone one’s nerves, loosen the 
tongue, and brighten the wit! 

“Let us telephone Daddy and Jan to come 
here and lunch with us,” Genevieve said to 
her mother, when the meeting was over. “I 
feel like seeing all the family to-day. I meant 


202 


LAYING THE PIPER 


to invite myself home to dinner this evening, 
bnt there are so many things on this afternoon, 
and that tiresome theater party this evening. 
I must have time to rest awhile, and have a 
small dinner in my own room.^’ 

‘‘Won^t Philip expect you at the table?’’ 

‘‘No, he served notice on me this morning 
that he and Dr. Graeme would dine at some 
one of the clubs.” 

So it was arranged. Mrs. Seldon was so 
glad to see Genevieve in good spirits, and look- 
ing better than she had seen her for some time, 
that she was ready to do whatever she asked. 
But, the senior Seldon sent regrets. He was 
lunching with Judge Herndon in order to con- 
sult with him on a difficult case. 

Soon after the meal had been ordered, Gen- 
evieve, with a well assumed air of inditference, 
elbows on the table and chin resting on inter- 
twined fingers, said: “I wonder if there’s any 
truth in the report that Jack Finley is about 
to bring suit for divorce.” 

“Jack Finley! divorce!” was exclaimed by 
the other Seldons in chorus, and Jansen 
asked : 

“Who reports anything of that kind?” 

“Oh, I’ve heard it mentioned casually. I 
don’t remember who said it, hut I believe it was 
Janet Preston and Mrs. Montfort.” 

“Those two mischief-making cats!” and 
Jansen drummed on the table with a spoon. 
“You may be sure there’s nothing in it. Jack 
would consider his children a long time before 


PAYING THE PIPER 203 

he’d do that, even if he had cause, which I 
don’t believe he’ll ever have.” 

‘^Oh, he may,” Genevieve said airily. ‘Hie 
and Ethel have always lived a cat and dog life, 
and I guess if the truth was known he neglects 
her shamefully.” 

“Perhaps he does, but that’s no proof that 
she could ever tempt another man to make love 
to her, — not to that extent anyway. If she had 
only a small amount of mentality, or if she 
tried to make herself attractive personally, 
maybe she wouldn’t be so shamefully neglected. 
I tell you now, if ever I marry, and the madam 
dares to show herself to me as Ethel Finley 
parades before Jack and other people too, 
she’ll hear the crack o’ doom right early in the 
game. ’ ’ 

“Well, now just suppose Jack should have 
cause and should determine on a divorce, what 
would he do first! How would Ethel know it of- 
ficially!” 

“I suppose they’d talk it over, I guess folks 
usually do that. Then he ’d engage me, or some 
other highly respectable lawyer to put the mat- 
ter into legal form, stating his complaint. This 
document, made up on his statement would be 
served on her— that is, handed to her person- 
ally. You know sometimes men, and women, 
too, dodge this, and make a lot of difficulty 
about accepting the notice. Of course, too, the 
one making application will leave the house 
where they have been living together ; if 
they’ve not been separated before.” 

“But Jack owns the house where they live.” 


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PAYING THE PIPER 


‘‘Yes, I suppose he’d manage in some way 
to break up the housekeeping — send her away 
on a visit or something, but, there’s nothing 
of that kind about Jack and Ethel, though, 
from all reports, if they lived under different 
divorce laws they would separate. She’s a di- 
rect contradiction of the theory that dirty 
people are good-tempered. I tell you she’s a 
terror, she has no regard for time, place, nor 
circumstances, if the spirit of perversity moves 
her to raise a rumpus. If she was my wife I’d 
wring her neck.” 

Mrs. Seldon shook her head reprovingly, but 
she smiled, too, and her mental comment was: 
“Certainly a Johnson, originally Jansen would 
not be tyrannized over by a common woman 
like Ethel Finley,” and glancing at Gen- 
evieve’s animated face, she concluded that her 
daughter, too, had gained the upper hand of 
her domineering, purse-proud husband. She 
could not have guessed, how could she, that all 
day Genevieve was seeing her frightful dream ; 
all day, when she folded her hands together she 
did it to dispel the feeling of tiny, icy, cling- 
ing fingers; that when she passed her hands 
over her face it was to rid herself of the feeling 
that three little bare white skulls were pressing 
against it'. 


CHAPTER XXI 


‘‘We all live to be prophets, and I see the 
end of this business of Dr. Graeme’s visit at 
mother’s.” 

“Yes, and that is!” 

“A wedding.” 

“Which one is it, — Katherine or Louise!” 

“Which one;” Flora Latham repeated in a 
tone, and with a face expressive of the limit of 
ber patience with masculine imbecility. 
“Seems to me a blind man wouldn’t need to 
ask that question.” 

“Perhaps not; but I, not being blind may 
possibly see double; and so seeing, it looks to 
me as if the canny Scot is dividing his atten- 
tion equally, between the bright brown eye, the 
melting blue.” 

“Very well. You may keep on seeing 
double; but I’ll venture my next month’s al- 
lowance against all the commissions you’ll 
make within the same time, that when the 
Scotsman returns from paying his respects to 
his relations across the water, if our sister Kate 
doesn’t go with him to the Pacific Coast, her 
promise will go.” 

“Oh indeed I” and Leigh poked the fire 

205 


206 PAYING THE PIPER 

thoughtfully. ^‘Then what^s to become of Ru- 
dolph 1 ^ ’ 

^‘What’s to become of Kate’s other admir- 
ers? A pretty girl can’t commit polyandry, at 
least not in this part of the world.” 

‘‘No, that’s true;” and Leigh gazed at his 
wife with very serious face, though his eyes 
betrayed him. 

“No, and I’m sure I shouldn’t have liked 
to see any symptoms of a double wedding in 
my own case.” 

Flora frowned, smiled, “made a mouth,” 
and said “Goose!” 

They had just returned from Mrs. Van- 
doren’s, where they had dined. The young Ru- 
dolphs had been there, and with Dr. Graeme 
it was a merry, and most congenial party. In- 
deed there was no time now when things did 
not go merrily at Mrs. Vandoren’s. Dr. 
Graeme pervaded the house with a strong, 
healthful, buoyant atmosphere. He was always 
at the service of each and every member of 
the family. To say that Max fairly fell down 
and worshipped him, would scarcely be extrav- 
agant. He was like an older son to Mrs. Van- 
doren, and Katherine and Louise Rudolph took 
possession of him with as little ceremony as 
they had used with August, Philip or Max.” 

And Philip, coming in now twice each day, 
breezy, cheerful, chaffing the girls, arranging 
luncheons with the whole party or dinner with 
Alex; all going at midday for a spin in his 
motor car, when the weather permitted, con- 
sulting with them all about the bazaar that was 


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207 


to be the greatest success that any folks ever 
achieved for sweet Charity ^s sake — oh, the 
days were too few and too short for all the 
mirth, the jollity, the fire of witticisms and the 
general good time. 

It was one day when they were lunching to- 
gether that Dr. Graeme said: ^‘Mrs. Van- 
doren, this small son of yours needs a vacation. 
I wish you^d issue orders for him to get ready 
and sail away with me in February. All work 
and no play, you know, — and though I can’t 
accuse him of dullness, I really believe a short 
vacation would brighten him wonderfully.” 

wish you would go, Philip; why can’t 

you ? ’ ’ 

suppose I could go if I really made up my 
mind to it ; — still, I ’d better wait and go a little 
later. You’ll be in Scotland or somewhere on 
the Continent until the latter part of the sum- 
mer, won’t you, Alex?” 

Dr. Graeme shook his head: ^‘Hardly later 
than the middle of June. You know in the sum- 
mer months we doctors are needed at home, 
and Ames can’t be expected to take care of my 
people who are used to my way of killing, all 
through the busy season.” 

^ H ’ll see ; I may be able to make it. It was 
yesterday that Finley, senior, and Rogers were 
talking again, very seriously about the feasi- 
bility of sending a .representative of the house 
to see our clients in several towns in England, 
Scotland, and on the continent. The matter 
will perhaps come up for a final decision the 
next time you are at the office, mother. I think 


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it’s very likely that if it is decided to send a 
man that Jack will want to go.” 

‘Ht has been talked of desultorily, on several 
occasions, within the last year. There has been 
no one sent now for several years,” said Mrs. 
Vandoren. ‘‘Perhaps you wouldn’t care to go 
now?” and she looked at Philip inquiringly. 

He answered her by elevating his eyebrows, 
and pursing his lower lip over the upper, and 
making some inarticulate sound. He knew his 
mother was thinking of Genevieve. So was he, 
but not in the way that she was. 

“Of course,” Dr. Graeme said, “if Jack 
wants to go, and the house consents to send 
him, you’ll be elected to stay at home?” 

“Yes, for the present. There’s been nothing 
said, but perhaps when the matter comes up 
for discussion it may be said that I had my 
fling in California. However, I really don’t 
know that Jack will care to go.” 

“I fancy Mr. Rogers will think that Jack’s 
having his fling while Ethel’s in the hospital;” 
Katherine said demurely without raising her 
eyes from her salad. 

“Katherine!” her mother reproved while 
Dr. Graeme laughed inaudibly, gazing across 
the table at the serious face of the girl. 

“Kate,” Philip said severely, “Satan will 
get his own on,e of these days.” 

She raised wonder-wide eyes and looked at 
her brother, but her glance was telescoped by 
Dr. Graeme’s and she smiled in the most child- 
ishly innocent fashion. 

“I never cease to wonder,” Rudolph re* 


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PAYING THE PIPl^R 

marked seriously, the great histrionic 

talent that Katherine possesses. Really, an 
embryo Bernhardt!^’ 

‘‘Yesterday I called to see Ethel,’’ said Mrs. 
Vandoren. “She’s not doing as well, the nurse 
told me privately, as they wish, and as they 
had reason to expect. She’s inclined to fret 
and feel neglected.” 

“Dear me!” Louise exclaimed, “how horrid 
it must be to be cooped up with broken bones 
at Christmas time. No wonder she frets. I 
should go raving crazy.” 

“Ethel ought to consider it a time of retreat 
and take advantage of it to review her sins; 
especially those of stubbornness and conceit.” 

“But, Philip, son, you see she never recog- 
nizes any such qualities in her character. Con- 
ceited people are the very last to see them- 
selves as others see them. If they find they are 
not receiving all they consider their due, they 
put themselves into the list of the unappreci- 
ated. To hear Ethel talk, a stranger would 
think her a suffering saint.” 

“I hope when she goes home that Jack will 
have the prudence to protect her from herself. 
She has no more judgment than a child, and 
this lack is so much more than overbalanced by 
her wilfulness, that she’s really a menace to 
her own safety.” 

This was on Monday, and three days before 
Christmas. 

That morning Jack Finley had entered the 
business office a bit later than usual, but he 
was breezy, and cheerful. “I crave your par- 


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don, most potent, grave and reverent seniors, 
and juniors,’’ bowing towards Philip, ‘‘for be- 
ing late, but yon see I’ve got the kiddies at 
home, and I’m regularly held up by them con- 
tinually. I’d never have believed that two 
small girls of eleven and fourteen could so bad- 
ger a fellow, and really make him toe the 
mark. ’ ’ 

“And hoW’s the wife!” Rogers asked. 

“Not doing as well as she ought to, and, now 
that I think of it, Mr. Rogers, you’re the one 
lone bachelor about the place who has reached 
the years of discretion. Will you do me a 
favor!” 

“Sure I will. What is it! take care of the 
little girls ! ’ ’ 

“No — take care of a big girl. I want you 
to go at once and marry Janet Preston.” 

“Oh, Lord Harry! Is thy servant a paretic 
that he should do this thing! and have you 
opened a matrimonial agency!” 

“No, to both your questions,” and Jack 
laughed with the rest of the force. “You see 
it’s this way. Yesterday I took the children 
to see their mother. I had hoped to find her 
in a cheerful frame of mind for their sakes; 
any old mood is good enough for me. Well; 
in the corridor we met the Preston, just going 
away, and in Ethel’s room we met the cyclone, 
just coming. That miserable parody of a 
woman had retailed the worst lot of rubbish 
that, — ^well, a first class gas meter can’t begin 
to lie as fast as she does. So, there was my 
lady in a towering rage ; scarcely looked at the 


PAYING THE PIPER 


211 


children, and berated me till she was ont of 
breath. Now, yon see if Preston was married, 
— Won’t yon do itP’ 

Roger shook his head with great serionsness : 
^^No, no; Jack, boy, not for me. Now listen. 
I don’t mean to be nnkind, bnt here’s a plain 
fact. Yon find yonr hands fnll with snch a little 
pattern of a woman as Ethel. How do yon 
snppose any man, or any two men conld keep 
tab on an Amazon like Preston f Besides being 
big as a honse, she ’s a tattler, liar, and general 
mischief-maker to boot. ’ ’ 

“Jack, I hope yon left orders to keep Pres- 
ton away from Ethel,” said Mr. Finley. 

“I did, and, they’d have kept her ont with- 
ont orders. Ethel didn’t show how mnch she 
was excited nntil I went in, bnt, the nnrse had 
seen the symptoms. However, for my own sat- 
isfaction I wrote her snch a letter as, — Yon 
know how bnsy she kept herself last winter 
telling of my letters to a certain little freak, 
‘nameless here forever more,’ and that the lit- 
tle imposter was showing them. Well; even if 
she had shown, any and all the letters I ever 
sent her — however, that’s a back nnmber. I’ll 
venture to say that a certain elderly maiden 
lady named Preston got a letter this morning 
that she won’t show to anyone.” 

“Jack, it’s a shame to nip her affections in 
the bnd,” Philip said from his desk. 

“Yes, the Montfort, the she one, has been 
to see her dear friend too. I’ve got her under 
the ban. She has gone so far as to tell Ethel 
that I Ve a bran new motor car, and have given 


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PAYING THE PIPEE 


Preston the use of it during Holidays. Pres- 
ton denied this, but concocted the story of a 
red-haired chorus girl. Oh Lord, how loug!^’ 

‘Ht will be just as long as you allow Ethel 
to associate with that sort of women, said Mr. 
Finley. ^‘Miss Preston will, no doubt, keep 
her position as long as her work is satisfactory 
to the School Board, no matter how surely we 
might convict her of lying and mischief-mak- 
ing. The Montforts will soon be out of the run- 
ning. Their house on the Drive is mortgaged 
up over the tops of the chimnies, and so is any 
bit of village real estate that they hold up 
north. He certainly can T hold on much longer. 

‘^Ah, don’t reckon without your hostess,” 
Eogers growled. ‘Ht’s the she one who’s been 
holding on for the last five years. She ’s about 
as bad as they make ’em. Ask me no questions. 
I’ll not consent to incriminate myself,” and to 
the ‘‘Ha has,” and Philip’s “Oh, Lucifer! did 
you fall into the net!” was answered: 

“No, but I was solicited awfully hard.” 


CHAPTER XXn 


Each morning as Genevieve wakened she 
said to herself: ‘‘Will it come to-day? Will I 
receive the notice to-day?^’ Jansen had said 
that usually the one suing left the house, if the 
two had been living together, or the one own- 
ing the house would remain, and under some 
pretext the other would be shunted out, but 
neither she nor Philip owned this house. If he 
remained longer in his rooms than usual, she 
thought: “he’s making preparations; he’s go- 
ing away.” Considering the way they had 
lived, merely under the same roof since six 
weeks after their marriage, she thought that 
perhaps Philip would not think it necessary to 
take this preliminary step. No doubt all she 
need expect would be the serving of the notice. 
Sometimes with a defiant smile, and again with 
fear and dread driving the color from cheek 
and lip she would think: “They’ll have a good 
time chasing after me to-day;” or, “they’ll 
come early or stay late if they catch me at 
home to-day.” 

If she saw a man walking along and looking 
towards the house when she was at her window 
or when she was about to get into her carriage 
she shook with apprehension. Was that a pro- 
213 


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cess server? Each night as she undressed for 
bed she sighed with relief. Another day gone 
by, and nothing has happened. How feverishly 
she rushed from place to place. All invitations 
were accepted, calls were made, shopping was 
attended to. She drove with her mother to any 
place, every place, and even on Sundays, she 
revived her early life habit of going to both 
morning and evening service, and she intro- 
duced Annetje into the infant class of a Sun- 
day School. Naturally, she and Philip saw 
very little of each other. She kept to the old- 
fashioned habit of being in the breakfast room 
with him, but there was most usually very little 
said; only enough to not be too noticeable by 
the servants. 

With this disposal of their time Philip was 
well satisfied. They had rarely dined alone 
since entering their new house; not more than 
two or three times. As the days passed Gen- 
evieve wondered if she might not venture to 
believe that Philip would repent of his determ- 
ination to divorce her. There was, in her mind, 
a dawning belief that his pride would shrink 
from this ultimate step ; or, perhaps his mother 
would persuade him to wait, trusting to the 
dangers always attending maternity. Perhaps 
he might conclude to content himself with an 
ocean divorce. It was only very lately that she 
had heard of this contemplated plan, of send- 
ing one of the younger men of the house to 
Europe. If Philip should go, he might remain 
away for — years. 

That would suit her better than to have him 


PAYING THE PIPER 


215 


at home ; much better. To be rid of his accus- 
ing presence, to live in this beautiful house 
with her retinue of well trained Japanese serv- 
ants, with an ample allowance, and then — but, 
what protection would she have — after the 
birth of her expected child — if — oh, bother! 
There would be no if in the future. This pres- 
ent trouble had come to her because of her lack 
of determination; her fear of exposure, her 
dread of pain. Did she not know what it 
meant? Had she not been haunted continually 
by the touch of those clinging little bony fing- 
ers? the chill of those ivory-white baby skulls? 
She had been wheedled from day to day, by a 
will stronger than her own ; she had procrastin- 
ated, hoping, foolishly hoping for an accident, 
until her mother had suspected, and then, not 
daring to ask her to be silent, she still hoped 
that in some way she would be out of the dif- 
ficulty before Philip should know. She had not 
dreamed of the interpretation her mother 
would put upon her unhappiness, nor upon 
Annetje’s resemblance to Dirck Johnson. How 
could she ever have guessed that she would go 
to Philip to lecture him upon his duty as a hus- 
band and a father. At this last thought she 
laughed. ‘ ‘ Oh you good, pious, foolish mother ! 
isnT it shocking? ‘Thou sayest such a foolish 
thing in such a solemn way.’ ” 

Still, all might be well if he would only sail 
away in silence to Europe ; and why should he 
not? She reviewed the situation as she sat in 
her car, waiting for her mother to make a few 
small purchases. She was gazing idly at the 


216 PAYING THE PIPER 

hurrying throngs when suddenly, from the wide 
street door of an office building across the way 
came Philip, accompanied by old John Trent 
and Alex Graeme. They entered Philip’s lan- 
daulet and were driven away. 

Genevieve’s heart sank like lead. Her city 
of refuge that she had built out of his family 
pride, and his horror of public disgrace lay in 
ruins at her feet. Philip would not be away 
from business at this hour for nothing. He 
would not be in the company of the old lawyer 
for any trifling matter. She remembered see- 
ing, years ago, before the birth of Annetje, one 
of Trent’s business envelopes on Philip’s desk 
in their library in San Francisco. At the time 
she had thought nothing of it, but later she was 
sure that Philip had told her secret to Trent, 
the correspondence had been carried on from 
the house, to prevent any scrap of it from fall- 
ing into the hands of his employees. Undoubt- 
edly Trent had been supplied with all the facts ; 
and if Philip had died any time within the last 
five years she would have been thrust into the 
presence of her own people branded as a vile 
thing; a woman who had been unfaithful to the 
gallant bridegroom who had crossed the con- 
tinent to claim her. ‘^Ah, well! the game’s up. 
There’s but one course to pursue. I’ll go down 
the lonely road that Katsu talks about, but, I’ll 
see that it’s not entirely lonely. I’ll provide 
myself with an escort.” 

She clenched her hands until her gloves split 
down the backs. ‘‘Perhaps my escort will not 
start at the same moment that I do, but, how 


PAYING THE PIPER 


217 


angry, how astonished he will be that he must 
start at all,^’ and she laughed sharply. ‘‘He’ll 
be sure to overtake me.” 

Her mother came out with her hands full of 
parcels. The carriage man opened the door, 
and assisted her. As Genevieve turned back 
the robe, Mrs. Seldon exclaimed: “Now look 
at her ragged gloves!” 

“Yes, I meant to wear heavier ones to-day, 
but Katsu handed me these with my mutf, and 
you know, sometimes the cold ruins certain 
qualities of gloves.” 

“Wouldn’t you better get another pair and 
put them on? How can you go about in those 
rags?” 

“Oh, never mind, we’re only shopping, and, 
where shall we lunch?” 

“Lunch! Are you daft! We lunched hours 
ago. Would you like a cup of tea?” 

“Yes, I think I would. We can go to some 
one of the store lunch rooms, anywhere; or we 
can go home. What more have you to do?” 

“Nothing that can’t wait. We’ll go home. 
You’re shaking as if in a chill.” 

“I am, very cold.” 

“You must go straight home; no, better stop 
at my house and rest and have a cup of tea.” 

“If it’s just as convenient I’ll have a glass 
of whiskey, hot and strong.” 

“All right; you can have it. It’s better to 
have just what your appetite calls for, than to 
deny yourself. The lack of gratification is 
what does the mischief.” 

Mrs. Seldon kept up a continuous lecture of 


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advice until they reached her house, but she 
might have been reciting Greek poetry for all 
Genevieve understood. Her thought was here, 
there, everywhere, and she already felt as if 
looking at the familiar streets for the last time. 
She looked about her, sometimes with a feeling 
of surprise at sight of some building that she 
was sure she had never noticed before, then 
reminded herself that perhaps she would never 
see it again. How dazzling the low sun shone 
on the snow, and how beautifully delicate were 
the tints of the wintry sky. Unconsciously her 
lip curled. Why should she admire the sun- 
shine, the blue sky, the fleecy clouds or the deli- 
cate tracery of leafless branches in the park? 
Was she not done with it all? Cheated out of 
this magnificent life by spiteful fate. How 
many women in all the city had sinned as she 
had, and yet they did not go out of the beauti- 
ful world of the living as she had decided was 
the one thing left for her to do. How was it 
that she had become thus entangled? Useless 
questioning. For how many years had she 
been held in thrall by this one man, against her 
judgment, against her will, against all the 
teachings of her mother, and even against all 
in her own nature save the primal craving, the 
passion that is shared alike by the high, the 
low, creeping and flying things, and the four 
footed beasts of barnyard and jungle. So 
many years. Could she remember when she 
was an innocent child? So soon after that. 
How much agony of mind she had suffered. 
How much pain and anguish of body? How 


219 


PAYING THE PIPEE 

had she kept upon her feet when she had feared 
at every step that she would faint, and, that 
might mean discovery. How had she listened 
to her mother’s expressed fears that she was 
growing to be very delicate. Oh, her mother! 
How easily she had been deceived. How great 
had been the confidence she had had in her 
daughter, and in that — other. Involuntarily, 
she ground her teeth and moaned, and her 
mother, turning towards her, saw how pallid 
she had grown, how she was shivering. 

‘‘My dear, you’re suffering;” and tried to 
take her hands. 

“No, no, I’m not, — don’t touch me!” and it 
was only by a great effort that Genevieve re- 
frained from striking. “I’ll not stop with you ; 
I must go home at once.” 

“Then I’ll go with you. I’ll not allow you 
to go alone.” 

“Oh, well then. I’ll go with you, and the 
machine can wait. I’ll be better when I have 
something hot.” 

She had it in her mind to get home, use knife 
or cord or gun, anything, rather than endure 
another night of dreams, another night of list- 
ening to the ghostly wind, the beating of the 
river against the break-water, and rising to 
another day of torture, and, now the final blow 
might come at any hour. But, if she could not 
go alone it would be of no use to hurry. Ah 
well, very soon she would be rid of it all. To- 
night there was something to do. Yes, that 
tiresome dinner dance at Kirkhams. These 
were old friends of Alex Graeme’s. She and 


220 


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Philip must go together to this, and how each 
one hated the necessity of it; but, it would 
only be to the house and back. They need not 
touch hands, excepting for the sake of appear- 
ances in getting into and out of the car. That 
was not always necessary. 

She wondered, as she lay on a couch in her 
mother’s room, half stupified with the strong 
hot drink, if ever there could be other dislike, 
other repugnance quite so strong as that of a 
man and a woman who had borne the relation 
of husband and wife to each other, and, for any 
cause, the tie has become hateful. For a few 
moments she lost herself in a sleep induced by 
the spirits she had taken. She was roused by 
a clock in the room striking the half hour. She 
rose, turned on the light, and saw that it was 
between five and six. She adjusted her gown, 
put on her hat, threw her ragged gloves into 
a waste basket, and taking her cloak on her 
arm started down stairs. 

Her mother met her in the hall. ‘‘You’re 
feeling better?” 

“Oh, yes, I’m all right. You didn’t send the 
machine away, did you.” 

“No, but you’d better not try to go out to- 
night. Dr. Graeme would be very sure to ai 
vise you to stay at home if he knew you were 
feeling ill.” 

“I’m not going to please Dr. Graeme. I’m 
going, because, well, I’m going. I won’t have 
much more time for these things, so I’m going 
while I can.” 

“Well, dear me, Genevieve, seems to me 


PAYING THE PIPER 


221 


you’ve no reason to complain. You’ll probably 
be able to go out until the season’s over, and, 

Annetje’s long past four, and, ” 

^‘What does it matter about Annetje’s age, 
if she’s four, or fourteen? the trouble’s the 
same,” and pulling her veil over her face to 
hide her weeping, she hurried down the steps, 
pretending not to see her mother’s hand. 


CHAPTEE XXm 


Not for one moment was this one purpose 
out of Genevieve’s mind; but, there were many 
things to do. Who was it who had received the 
admonition; “set thy house in order.” That 
she must do. There were many things to set 
in order, many plans to be laid. Not for any 
conceivable price would she fail in this thing 
to which she had set her hand. As she was 
dressing for the evening at Kirkham’s she said 
to Katsu: “So many of my ornaments need 
cleaning. It must be done soon. Eemind me 
to-morrow to send you for some cyanide of 
potassium. It’s the best thing to use, but, we 
must be careful; it’s a deadly poison.” 

“Has Madam used it before?” 

“Ye — es, but not lately; not since Annetje 
was old enough to meddle.” 

On the way to Kirkham’s, Genevieve said: 
“I suppose I ought to invite Dr. Graeme to 
dine, sometime soon. Are there any people 
you ’d like to have with him ? ’ ’ 

“No, but, if you care to invite him, we might 
have some of the home folks, yours as well as 
mine. ’ ’ 

“Very well, but I guess we’ll have to wait 
a few days, everybody’s so busy,” 

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223 


‘^Wait then till this bazaar is over and done 
with. I donT believe that either Barbara or 
Kate, or even Alex, for that matter, has an 
evening to spare.” 

“Perhaps it will be better. Then I’ll make 
it something of a formal function, and I’ll send 
out my invitations as soon as I can get them 
ready. May as well have the Finleys too, I 
suppose. Ethel won’t be able to come.” 

“For which all interested may be thankful.” 

“I’ll hand you my list in the morning. We 
can’t leave out Mr. and Miss Rogers, if we 
have the Finleys.” 

“No. They’re always pleasant to have.” 

This arrangement would give her ample time 
for all preparations; but, there was one diffi- 
culty: How could she single out two — she had 
decided that there must be two — and how could 
she isolate them from a company of eighteen 
or twenty, without jeopardizing others? It 
would be comparatively easy for only Philip — 
but, well, she would wait and trust. If there 
was any way of reaching old John Trent — but, 
he had never been a society man, never even a 
social one. He never dined away from home, 
excepting occasionally at his club. No, he must 
be left out. It would be of little use to meddle 
with him and leave some certain records in ex- 
istence. 

It was, at least, a great relief to have settled 
on a time of action. Within this one week, or 
ten days at most, something might be said that 
would more fully decide for her what she must 
do, and then the details could be arranged. 


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Again on this evening no one was gayer than 
Genevieve. Her color was brilliant, her wit 
was ready and sparkling. She talked with Dr. 
Graeme about their years as neighbors in San 
Francisco, and reminded him of many pleasant 
hours at the houses of mutual friends. He an- 
swered her inquiries about these friends and 
gave her many items of news while he won- 
dered : Did she know of the calamity that was 
pending? Had she any definite knowledge of 
the humiliation that was to be put upon her 
very soon? He could not have guessed how 
fully she realized all that he wondered about; 
nor could his wildest imagining have come at 
all near to what she had determined upon. She 
did not know that her San Francisco acquaint- 
ance had had a whisper from Philip in the 
coatroom : ‘ ‘ There will be nothing doing until 
the ball and bazaar, and a certain dinner are 
disposed of.’^ Neither did she know that 
Philip had charged his memory with a message 
for Trent which he would write to-night, and 
the old man would receive by the first mail in 
the morning. So she chatted and laughed and 
sipped wine, eating but little, and when the din- 
ner was over she was one of the first to join in 
the dance. To her mother ’s whispered admoni- 
tion she answered carelessly: ‘^Oh, let^s live 
while we live, for wefil be a long time dead,^’ 
and away she whirled with Gus Rudolph in a 
waltz that came near to being a gallop. Mrs. 
Seldon looked at Philip on the opposite side 
of the room talking to Mrs. Kirkham, who was 
admiring Genevieve ^s health and spirit. His 


PAYING THE PIPER 


225 


mother looked at him too, but his face gave no 
sign of disapproval. If his wife wished to 
dance, it seemed he was not the person to for- 
bid it, or even to check her with so much as a 
look. 

Mrs. Perkins sauntered up to Mrs. Seldon, 
saying as she waved her lace fan: ‘‘What a 
fine thing it is to be young, good-looking and 
happy.’’ 

“Yes, certainly, that’s a fortunate combina- 
tion. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ I think I never saw any woman who seemed 
to so thoroughly enjoy life as Genevieve does. 
Most of us have some drawbacks — some little 
fly in some of our ointments, but she doesn’t 
show any symptom of the least bit of a 
crumpled leaf in her bed of roses.” 

“No,” and Mrs. Seldon sighed, “I hope it 
may continue. I don’t like to see her in such 
high spirits. In her condition she shouldn’t 
allow herself to become excited.” 

“Ah?” Mrs. Perkins said inquiringly, then 
nodded wisely, “I had no idea.” 

“Yes,” and Mrs. Seldon sighed again. 

‘ ‘ She ought to be careful. I wonder that 
Philip allows her to dance, particularly a romp 
like that.” 

“I don’t know how he could prevent it; she 
won’t listen to me.” 

“Perhaps it’s just as well if she feels like 
taking the exercise. You know what would be 
death to one is health to another.” 

So the evening passed, and Genevieve’s 
spirits never flagged for one instant. But, 


226 PAYING THE PIPER 

when she was shut in the carriage, she sank 
into her corner in a heap, the hood of her cloak 
drawn over her face. In this position, her face 
hidden, suddenly her dream, her vision of the 
outcast, wandering woman came back to her, 
and automatically she folded her arms as if 
clasping the fretful child. Then came the re- 
membrance of the little skeletons clinging to 
her hands and her clothing, and with a start 
she threw the covering from her face. She 
looked from the window to see if she was near 
home. She did not know they were on the 
Drive, and her gaze rested on the river lying 
dark and still under the light of the full moon. 
It seemed quite lifeless. Only a light here and 
there that made the darkness darker. There 
came a flash of fan-shaped whiteness that for 
an instant made the inside of the carriage like 
day. Philip was looking out of the opposite 
window and seemed oblivious to all about him, 
but his face was pleasant. Genevieve had 
turned from the river, and the light lasted long 
enough for her to see his expression of content. 
Her thought was, ‘^He thinks he will soon be 
rid of me — soon ride with me for the last time. 
He may not be far wrong, but, when we take 
that last drive — of course, wefll not be directly 
together she stopped suddenly — and al- 

most spoke her thought ; — ‘‘which hearse would 
go first and then, “just suppose someone 
should say; ‘Ladies first,’ ” and she came near 
to laughing aloud. She controlled herself, and 
again her thought ran on: “It doesn’t matter 
— that’s a mere detail, but, I do wonder which 


PAYING THE PIPER 


227 


will go first down the lonely road. Oh, if by 
any chance — I fail — if I — should not go at all. 
It would be awful! I wonder how I’d feel — 
what would I say? There ’d be arrests and all 
sorts of questions would be asked; and there ’d 
be a funeral, and how would my lovely draw- 
ing-room look with a long black casket — stand- 
ing there for — oh — for days. Maybe, there ’d 
be two caskets: — No! I wouldn’t have Alex 
in the house ” 

Again a search light swept the river. 

“Wonder what that patrol boat’s stopping 
for,” she said aloud. 

“Some sort of trouble; they ’re throwing out 
grappling hooks, some drowned person per- 
haps.” 

“Dear me! it shows very poor taste for a 
person to commit suicide by drowning.” 

“It may have not been suicide, but if it is, 
why of course there are pleasanter ways of 
reaching the same end, but sometimes a poor 
devil hasn’t a dime left for the purchase of 
acid, and druggists are growing careful. It 
isn’t every one who can buy acids and other 
poisons.” 

“But these things, acids and cyanides, and 
opiates, are used for many other purposes be- 
sides — taking life.” 

“Still they do often cause death through 
ignorance or carelessness, even when not pur- 
chased with that intent. Photographers and 
jewellers use cyanide of potassium, legiti- 
mately, and yet, they sometimes have met with 
calamities.’^ 


228 PAYING THE PIPER 

She made no reply, but her thoughts ran on. 
Why should she not, in self-defence, put her 
enemies out of her path ? Why should she, who 
had so much to live for, step down and out of 
these pleasant ways into darkness and silence? 
Why should she not — in her thought she was 
about to name what she meant to do. O God! 
to what a pass had she come ! It had seemed so 
different as long as she meant to go herself. 
Could she deliberately plot murder? and, to 
what end? There would be the terrible hap- 
pening at her own dinner, perhaps when all 
were seated at the table. Think of it, — all 
would raise their glasses and drink, and then 
— two would whiten, gasp, perhaps slip from 
their chairs to the floor — dead. Carey Finley 
would be there, he would be the authority. He 
would say the one awful word. There would 
be screaming, ringing of bells, running up and 
down, arrests, silence. Whom would they sus- 
pect? Who would be arrested? The servants, 
no doubt. There would be the funeral, and 
then would come old John Trent, and read 
Philip’s will.- 


CHAPTER XXIV 


Was there ever such a hilarious, romping 
time for any other collection of children as 
Flora Latham organized for ‘‘the children of 
the firm, ’ ’ for so she named the party she gath- 
ered at her own house, with a Christmas tree 
and her son and daughter for a rallying point. 
There were too many grown up affairs, and too 
many of the children were of the “going-to- 
bed-with-the-chickens-age, ’ ’ to have the first 
view of the tree in the evening. So, the blinds 
were closed, shades were drawn, and the dozens 
of electric lights blossomed in the tree on 
Christmas Day in the afternoon. Then came 
the gathering of the clans of three generations, 
without counting Aunt Dempsey. 

There were Jack’s two daughters, Carey’s 
three boys and the baby girl in her nurse’s 
arms, the two Latham children, and little 
stupid, drooling Annetje. In the midst of the 
hilarity wise Helen Finley, Jack’s oldest, said 
to Phil Latham: “You and Melicent are not 
children of the firm; your father’s in real 
estate.” 

“Oh, I guess we are of the firm, if you’ll 
only take notice. Don’t you know who our 
229 


230 


PAYING THE PIPEE 


grandmother is? She's the real Vandoren 
senior ; the boss of the whole shebang. ' ' 

^‘Philip dear," and the ^‘boss" patted his 
shoulder while Helen looked a bit taken back. 

‘‘Well, Grandma, I'd like to know if I don't 
belong to the firm. I'm going to work in the 
business as soon as I'm out of school. Uncle 
Phil said I might, and I'm going with him 
every morning, and my name's Vandoren too." 

The whole company had been silenced by the 
boy's clear voice and as he stood with head 
thrown back, hands in jacket pockets and feet 
wide apart, he was well worth looking at. His 
father, sitting astride a chair in the back- 
ground said to Carey Finley: “By George! 
but he's a corker!" 

“His Had all over again, only a lot better 
looking. Such a pity about little Annetje!" 

“She's a changeling. I'll never believe she's 
a Vandoren. Pity there's prospect of an- 
other. ' ' 

“Yes, she's the one inferior child in the 
bunch; a mighty poor sort of a kid." 

The poor sort of kid's mother was seemingly 
oblivious to everything but the joy of living. 
She was here, there, everywhere, dancing with 
the children, then playing for others, and when 
the early tea was set for them, no one was so 
busy as she, waiting and helping, and laugh- 
ing and joking with every one. Mrs. V andoren 
said to the elder Mrs. Finley, that really Gen- 
evieve- was getting on her nerves, with her in- 
cessant hilarity, her constant action. 


PAYING THE PIPER 231 

‘HsnT she just a trifle hysterical P’ Mrs. 
Finley asked. 

'‘Carey thinks she is, and Mrs. Seldon told 
me yesterday that she was not quite happy be- 
cause of her prospects and that she weeps and 
frets in secret. Yet see how lively she is now, 
and always, she is the same way when she’s 
out.” 

"There’s something very unusual in her he- 
. haviour. See Alex watching her now, and 
Carey too. I’ve noticed the two doctors sig- 
naling to each other several times this after- 
noon.” 

"It’s very strange. If she was in this mood 
before, it’s no wonder that Annetje is such a 
failure.” 

"No,” and Mrs. Vandoren sighed. "I’d like 
to talk to Philip about it, but I can’t even seem 
to force his confidence. Mrs. Seldon thinks 
that Genevieve must have felt lonely and home- 
sick, and perhaps Philip was unsympathetic, 
and unappreciative and it was because of her 
longing for home — but, now, I can’t under- 
stand why she should be unhappy, nor why she 
should put on all this extravagance, for really, 
I think it’s all affectation. It’s so unlike Gen- 
evieve. ’ ’ 

"No, it’s not like her; many persons have re- 
marked to me, how very peculiar she seems.” 

Down the hall a telephone bell rang, and 
within a minute or two a maid came to say 
that Mr. Jack Finley was wanted. He an- 
swered, and after some little time came in with 
a querulous expression clouding his face. To 


232 PAYING THE PIPER 

Ms brother's ‘‘Well, message from Ethel P’ he 
answered : 

“Guessed right, first dash. Nurse says the 
dear sutferer doesn’t believe I’m here — thinks 
I’m somewhere else — won’t be satisfied if I 
don’t show up at hospital at once.” 

“Lord Harry!” and Dr. Finley threw up his 
hands, adding, “better go, my machine’s at the 
door, it won’t take long; I’ll go with you as 
guarantor that you’ve been passing the day 
sanely — well perhaps not quite that with all 
these kids, but, at least not in the way she sus- 
pects.” 

“I’ll go, if you think I’d better, but I do hate 
the damndest to kow-tow to her whims. I 
thought that having her cooped up in a hos- 
pital with a broken arm, a sprained ankle and 
a twisted knee, I’d have a bit of a vacation. 
I took the children to see her this morning, but 
she’s so peevish she makes them unhappy and 
anxious to get away.” 

“Well, I’ll look in with you, and we may 
find her in better tone. I know the doctors in 
the institution and some of the nurses.” 

The brothers went away together and as they 
went out. Cicely, Jack’s younger daughter, 
said to her Grandmother: “It always seems 
as if mama has a bad time whenever other 
folks are having a good time, and then she 
frets till everybody has a bad time.” 

“Yes, dear, I suppose it is rather dull for 
mama to be there in her hospital bed, unable 
to be up for more than a few minutes, just to 
break the monotony of her days and nights. 


PAYING THE PIPER 233 

To-day she knows we’re all here together, and 
perhaps it makes her feel more lonely.” 

guess so, grandma, but, a few weeks ago, 
one of our music teachers. Miss Simpson, had 
a sprained ankle, and had to stay in her room 
for — a long time; and we girls, all her pupils 
were invited to a Harvest Home festival, and 
we went in big automobiles, oh, miles and miles 
along the loveliest road, and, she couldn’t go, 
but she wanted us all to come and say good- 
bye tc her, and she was just as sweet as she 
could be. When we came home, we went to 
see her again and each one of us, carried for 
her, a prettily colored leaf — just think; only a 
leaf, that we had picked up on the lawn where 
the picnic was ; and she was so glad, she 
laughed and cried all together. She pressed 
the leaves, and put something on them to keep 
them from curling, and now they’re made into 
wreaths around her picture frames. She said 
they were a pleasant reminder that we girls 
had thought of her when we were having a 
nice time out in the autumn sunshine.” 

^‘That’s certainly a very pretty story, and 
Miss Simpson must be a lovely woman.” 

‘ ^ ‘ She is. Grandma, and when you come to the 
school to see us, you’ll see her too. Now this 
morning when Papa and Helen and I went to 
see Mama, she didn’t seem glad at all, and 
Papa took her a beautiful kimono, and a big 
box of flowers. Sister gave her a dozen hand- 
kerchiefs and T took her a knife and fork and 
spoon, of sterling silver, so she needn’t use the 
hospital things, and she wasn’t one bit glad. 


234 


PAYING THE PIPER 


She told Papa the color of the kimono wasn’t 
becoming, and he said he’d change it for any 
color she wanted, but she said no, she’d keep 
it as one more example of his blundering. 
Papa didn’t say anything. He just looked at 
the floor.” 

‘^Mama liked your present, and Sister’s!” 

“No, she didn’t;” and the little girl’s lips 
trembled and her eyes clouded. “She just 
opened the case and looked at the silver, and 
said ‘Little Silly, couldn’t you think of any- 
thing more useless?’ and I had her monogram 
put on every piece. Then I looked at the floor 
too. Mama took the box of handkerchiefs, and 
said: ‘Why do you let the shop girls cheat 
you so? These are cotton, and they’re coarse.’ 
When Mama called me little Silly, I just stood 
by Papa and wanted to cry, but sister just put 
her chin up high, and said, ‘Dear me. Mama, I 
wish you’d hurry and get well and come to our 
school awhile. Miss Newton says it’s very bad 
form to criticize a present, and I made those 
handkerchiefs myself, out of linen that Miss 
Newton bought for me at McCutcheon’s. She’s 
a good judge of linen.’ Then Papa laughed 
and pinched Helen’s finger and called her 
Grandma Finley, and then we came away, and 
I was glad Papa laughed, and going home in 
the machine Papa laughed whenever he looked 
at Sister and we sang a little Christmas song 
together.” 

“I’m glad you and Sister had a nice ride 
and a nice little concert with Papa. It couldn’t 
have made Mama any better if you and Papa 


PAYING THE PIPER 235 

had cried your eyes out. It was just as well 
that you were cheerful.’’ 

‘‘And Grandma, don’t you think Sister was 
right? Isn’t it very bad form to grumble about 
a present?” 

“Perhaps sometimes, the receiver of a pres- 
ent, if disappointed, may be a bit absent- 
minded, may be thinking of the thing she would 
have preferred, but even so, there’s nothing 
that your mother seriously needs, and if she 
didn’t care for your presents, you would all 
have felt better if she had been a bit more con- 
siderate. We hope Mama will feel better very 
soon.” 

“There’s Papa and Uncle Carey now, and 
see. Grandma, how sober they look. Uncle 

Carey’s talking and,” she broke off, and 

ran to open the door. 

The two were again in the midst of the pleas* 
ant company, but both were more serious than 
when they went out. They made their way to 
where their mother sat. Their father joined 
them and very soon all the grown folks in the 
rooms had gathered in a circle and were lis- 
tening to Dr. Finley. 

“You see,” he said, “seeing Ethel to-day for 
the second time, I could notice the change more 
quickly than Homer, who has been about her 
every day, but, he told me that for the last 
three days, he had marked these unfavorable 
symptoms, and so had Nurse Darcy.” 

“Do you think Miss Darcy a first-class 
nurse?” Celeste asked. “You know she was 
with Mrs. Bushnell.” 


236 


PAYING THE PIPER 


certainly, she^s first-class. I don’t 
know of a better one. The trouble at Bush- 
nelPs was, they starved her, and she had to 
sue for her money. Of course, they’ve said 
nothing to Ethel’s friends, excepting that she 
is not improving as rapidly as they wished she 
would, and it’s only within the last day or two 
that this pain up and down the spine has been 
very troublesome. At first they thought it was 
caused by impatience and her insistence that 
her position be changed every few minutes. 
Now that there is almost constant pain, they 
think there must have been some injury to the 
spine, impossible to detect at the time of the 
accident, and that this trouble, and her rest- 
lessness are reactionary, and, both doctors, 
Homer and Fifield, fear paralysis. ’ ’ 

‘^Oh, this is shocking!” and Mrs. Finley 
clasped her own over Jack’s hand. 

^‘You say they fear — but really, there are no 
symptoms of paralysis now are there?” Jack 
asked. 

‘‘My dear boy, the symptoms are what they 
base their fear on. This restlessness is because 
of a shocked and deranged nervous system; 
and the pain is because the nerves of the spine 
are greatly affected. I’ll go and see her again 
to-morrow, and see what a bit of plain talk will 
do. Every movement she makes is an invita- 
tion to the disordered nerves to quit business. 
In a case of this kind, when not extreme, self- 
control is a great factor.” 

“And that’s a factor, that, up to date Ethel 
has never shown any symptoms of possess- 


PAYING THE PIPER 237 

ing ; ’ ’ and J ack leaned his elbows on his knees, 
and twisted a bit of holly. 

‘‘Well, Jacky, boy,’’ said Aunt Dempsey, 
the most of us have, at some time in our lives 
had revelations, some of one kind, some of an- 
other. If Ethel is laid up for a longer time 
than even a sprained ankle, a twisted knee and 
a broken arm might reasonably keep her 
housed, it can’t he possible that there won’t 
some good come out of it. You must go and 
see her every day, and you must be patient. 
Whatever happens, see to it that you have no 
harshness to remember.” 

“You’re always right. Auntie. This isn’t 
any easier for Ethel to bear because she did it 
herself; and there’s no use of croaking ‘I told 
you so,’ and now, I guess we’d better sort out 
our youngsters, and go silently stealing away 
somewhere else, thankful that another Christ- 
mas is over, and put up petitions for a happy 
issue out of all our afflictions.” 


CHAPTEE XXV 


True to his promise to his brother and the 
arrangements he had made with the hospital 
staff, Dr. Finley went to see Ethel next morn- 

Dr. Fifield met him on his arrival, with; 
‘‘You ^11 never guess the mood she’s in to- 
day;” and to Carey’s inquiring “Well?” 
“She’s determined to go home.” 

Carey sat down and twirled his hat. 

“I think she’s the most thoroughly unrea- 
sonable person I’ve ever had anything to do 
with.” 

Carey nodded: “Here too.” 

“Perhaps,” Fifield continued, “it’s one 
phase of her disordered nerves — one effect of 
her injuries. Certainly she couldn’t always 
have been so childish, she listens to nobody, 
heeds nothing. She orders us about as if we 
were so many stray dogs.” 

“Yes, I know all about it. She’s been in the 
family fifteen years, and she has yet to dis- 
cover that each and every Finley is not her 
servant, without wages. She has no blood, no 
breeding, nothing that makes for anything 
more than half civilization.” 

‘ ‘ Come in and see her ; you may possibly be 

238 


PAYING THE PIPER 


'239 


able to influence her sufficiently to calm her ex- 
citement. ’ ’ 

Dr. Fifield was mistaken. As soon as her 
brother-in-law was inside the door, Ethel called 
out: 

‘‘Carey, I’m going home — and I’m going 
right away — to-day. There’s no use of these 
doctors and nurses saying I’m better here. 
Can’t you take me in your machine! Who’s 
with you!” 

“I’ve no one with me; but, Ethel, why must 
you go home! Now, try to talk quietly. 
There’s no need of excitement. Let’s talk it 
all over calmly. What’s the particular hurry 
about getting home!” 

“Because I want to go. Home’s the place 
for a mother. Think of those children running 
wild; nobody to look after them, and Jack 
gives them not one-half as much attention as 
he would two dogs or cats if I’d allow him to 
have the dirty beasts about the house.” 

“Let me tell you, Ethel. You’re mistaken. 
Jack gives a great deal of time and attention 
to the children, and he has Sally Ludlow, you 
remember the nurse you had years ago!” 

“Why, of course, I remember; and he has 
that Ludlow woman in the house! I’ll go home 
if I walk,” and Ethel rose hastily to a sitting 
posture, but, with a cry of pain she sank back 
on her pillows. 

Her nurse hurried in, and by applying res- 
toratives, she saved her patient from an actual 
faint. As soon as she was able to speak, she 
cried out again: “To think of Jack getting 


240 


PAYING THE PIPEE 


that Ludlow woman into the house as soon as 
I^m out of it.’’ 

Miss Darcy soothed her: ‘‘Mrs. Finley, 
we’ve had Ludlow here for over three years, 
and we only let her go to your house on Mr. 
Finley’s urgent solicitation when your little 
girls were coming home. Sally’s one of the 
most reliable and efficient women I’ve ever 
known.” 

“I don’t care how reliable and efficient 
you’ve found her. She’s not going to stay in 
my house, and I’m going home to tell her so. 
Get my clothes. Carey, you’ve got to take me 
home.” 

“Now listen to me, Ethel, and if you per- 
sist in this wildness, we’ll have to administer 
an opiate. Miss Darcy, call in the doctors.” 

Again Ethel threw up her one good arm, but 
Carey took her hand, and held it firmly, and 
looking about, remarked — ‘ ‘ I thought I saw an 
ether cone here somewhere.” 

“I can’t take ether, nor anything of the 
kind. ’ ’ 

“Yes, you can, I’ve seen you take it; and 
you’ll take it again, good and plenty if you 
don’t behave.” 

Homer and Fifield came in, and Carey said: 
“Doctors, and nurse, this patient of yours says 
she’s going home if she walks. We know that 
she can’t possibly walk, not so entirely because 
of the injured leg, as the affected spine. Now 
if she persists in this determination, and I’ll 
not hesitate to say that it’s the freak of a mad 


PAYING THE PIPER 241 

woman, I want to know who’s to take the re- 
sponsibility of the consequences?” 

take them myself,” she said sulkily. 

“Unfortunately for the rest of us, you can’t 
do that under the law governing those in 
charge of irresponsible people; you are in the 
latter class. But, if you keep on raving about 
going home, it will probably have about the 
same etfect on your nerves that the actual 
going would. You see, the matter is partially 
in your own hands.” 

“I’m going, and you can make up your mind 
to that. I’d have gone anyway, but now that 
I know that Ludlow woman’s in the house, I’ll 
go if I creep on my hands and knees. ’ ’ 

“What’s your objection to Sally?” Dr. 
Homer asked. 

“She’s treacherous. She sets Mr. Finley 
against me.” The three doctors smiled, and 
the nurse said: “Nonsense! Sally has only 
sense enough to be cleanly, faithful and indus- 
trious.” 

Carey added: “And she’s taking good care 
of Helen and Cicely, keeping the house in or- 
der, and proving herself a good general , man- 
ager. ’ ’ 

“She’s one of the best women we’ve ever 
had about this place in my time,” said the 
nurse. 

Dr. Fifield spoke: “Suppose Dr. Finley, we 
leave this matter to be settled between Mr. and 
Mrs. Finley this afternoon when he comes. Let 
us hear what he has to say about it.” 


242 


PAYING THE PIPER 


agreed Homer, ‘^He’s the person to 
take the responsibility; donT you agree, Dr. 
Finley r’ 

‘H tell you, 141 take the responsibility my- 
self; and Carey, you tell Jack to come for me 
with that new machine he^s got. I guess — 
somebody else can spare it for that long.’’ 

^‘You’re very much mistaken, Ethel. Jack 
has no machine, and I want to tell you now 
that if you really must go home, and if Jack 
allows it, you must go on a cot in an ambu- 
lance ! ’ ’ 

‘H’ll do nothing of the kind. I’ll go home 
respectably and you needn’t say 4f Jack al- 
lows it.’ Jack will do as I say.” 

‘‘Very well, Ethel,” and he rose to go. 
“Now please to listen to one small suggestion; 
Do try to control yourself. These fits of 
excitement are very injurious ; and, if you 
must go home, why not let your doctors 
and nurses do what is best for you! Let 
them use their judgment and send you home 
in the way that promises the least chance of 
further injury?” 

“Carey, you’re talking absolute silliness. 
My arm is in plaster and so are my knee and 
ankle. There’s no chance for me to be hurt 
unless we should be upset, or collide with some- 
thing. ’ ’ 

“Even such accidents are not impossible,” 
Carey said quietly, and, after a pause, and a 
glance at the other doctors: “You know that 
for several days, you’ve had a severe pain in 


PAYING THE PIPEE 243 

your spine. You know, too, that sometimes a 
very slight movement starts it. Only a few 
minutes ago, you know how intense it wasT’ 

‘'That's simply because IVe not had the 
right treatment. IVe been kept in bed too 
long. After I'm at home. I'll get up whenever 
I feel like it." 

Dr. Homer went out of the room. Dr. Fifield 
turned to Carey, saying: “Very well, then. 
If Mrs. Finley distrusts our judgment she 
ought to make a change, but I hope your 
brother will allow us to call in surgeons Gould 
and Knapp. You know they're the leaders of 
the profession in the city. I'd like their judg- 
ment on the case, before Mrs. Finley leaves the 
hospital. ' ' 

“Thank you for the suggestion. I'll speak 
to tiack, and I'll speak to the doctors myself. 
I'll have them here, if possible, this afternoon." 

But, what were the counsels of five humane 
and skillful men, or the promises and pleadings 
of an alarmed husband against the determina- 
tion of a stubborn, suspicious and ignorant 
woman? The best they could do was to gain 
her consent to wait over night until a nurse 
could be engaged, and the house put into fit 
order for the reception of an invalid. The 
two consulting surgeons, as well as the hospital 
staff, decided that the change might do her no 
more harm than would her uncontrolled temper 
if she was forced to stay. More than this, Dr. 
Knapp had said to Carey as they walked to- 
gether along the corridor: “Poor little un- 


244 


PAYING THE PIPER 


fortunate fool of a woman! She’s in a very 
precarious state, even with the constant care 
and attention that she has here, and which she 
won’t have at home, but, it might only serve to 
hasten the climax to tell her, that she may 
never, even with the best of care, leave her bed. 
That pain in the spine is decidedly ominous.” 

thought so, and I’ve tried to give her an 
inkling of her danger, but she only berates the 
treatment she’s had here.” 

‘‘There’s nothing wrong about the treat- 
ment. I helped in the training of Homer and 
Fifield. There are very few more intelligent 
or skillful surgeons, than either one of them.” 

“I was sure of that, but still, it’s gratifying 
to hear you say it,” and Carey felt doubly glad 
that he too had been under the tutelage of the 
gray haired surgeon, the great Dr. Knapp. 

Dr. Gould joined them at the door, and en- 
tering Carey’s motor car, they were driven 
to their several offices. As Dr. Knapp was 
about to leave the machine, Carey said: “Doc- 
tor, one question more. What about the man- 
ner of the removal of our patient? She insists 
that she’ll not be carried on a cot in an ambu- 
lance. Do you think it possible to take her, 
without injury, in this, or some other car?” 

The keen gray eyes of the old surgeon looked 
straight into those of his former pupil: 

“Dr. Finley, there are a few things, that, in 
my judgment are really impossible. One of 
these is, for Mrs. Finley to go home in any 
manner without great suffering. Another is 
for her to be removed in any manner without 


PAYING THE PIPER 


245 


more or less injury. If she lives through it 
without partial or total paralysis, I shall be 
agreeably surprised, but, as I understand it, we 
are allowing her to have her way as the less of 
two evils. We must all die, sometime.^’ 


CHAPTEE XXVI 


It was Sunday afternoon, and, as usual, Mrs. 
Vandoren had callers; — not formal callers, 
only Leigh and Flora Latham, Mr. Eogers and 
his sister, and Philip, who had come in later 
than usual for his daily visit. He had walked 
from his own house. The air was clear, frosty, 
exhilerating. The wide river lay like molten 
lead in the afternoon sun. The channel be- 
tween the borders of thin ice that reached out 
from either shore was so still one could 
scarcely discover whether the tide was rising 
or falling. 

‘^Alex, come out for a walk, or have you 
tramped far enough to-day 

‘‘No, IVe not walked far. Max, and I did a 
small sprinting match from here across 
through the park to the other river, and back 
again. 

“Very small, I should say! Phil, I’m sure 
we walked at least five miles.” 

“And what’s five miles for boys?” Mr. 
Eogers jeered. “I’ll venture to say that on 
Wednesday night, Kate will double that, and 
on the double quick too, and never whimper.” 

“Of course, I will; and I won’t whimper, un- 
less I find myself set out for a wall-flower.” 

246 


PAYING THE PIPER 


247 


‘‘We won’t have that, Baby, if I have to 
dance with you myself. You know I can dance, 
don’t you!” 

“Yes, indeed, I know it, you good old Unky 
Tom,” and Katherine clasped her hands 
around his arm as she reverted to her baby 
name for her father’s partner, “but don’t you 
know it’s been a long time since you danced 
with me?” 

“So it has, — we’d better practice a little. 
Strike up Flora, let’s have Echo waltz. Lord 
how that used to set me crazy, when I was the 
age of Max.” 

Flora, obedient and laughing, went to the 
piano, and Katherine was spun about the room 
in Mr. Roger’s arms, very much as he had used 
to dance with her in her childhood. Only once 
around, Mr. Rogers tipped the scales very 
nearly at the two hundred notch, and he was 
as he had said, a bit out of practice. Still, he 
was triumphant. 

“There! can’t I dance?” 

“Indeed, you can, Unky, and I shall expect 
you to help me out on Wednesday night.” 

“Katie, I’ll do it if I’m alive; and I just 
want to tell you, right now, while there’s no 
doubt of my sanity, that you’re the only girl 
in the world whom I ever thought I’d like to 
marry.” 

“Oh, Mr. Rogers!” with a sweeping curtesy, 
and clasped hands against the lace of her 
bodice where it was supposed to cover her 
heart; “this is so sudden,” 

“You flirtatious witch and be seized her 


248 


PAYING THE PIPER 


by the shoulders and shook her. “Don’t you 
know there’s a society of good people down 
town for the prevention of cruelty to animals 1 
and because a fellow happens to be a sort of 
hippopotamus he’s no exception. Come, Lucia, 
let’s go home.” 

Laughing they went, and Philip and Alex 
followed, heeding Mrs. Vandoren’s charge, to 
be back by seven to Sunday evening supper. 

Next Flora said: “We have the automobile 
at the door, mother, come with us and call on 
Jack and Ethel. I’m anxious to see her. Phil 
says Jack’s been in rather low spirits since she 
came home.” 

On the second floor of Jack Finley’s house, 
they were met at the head of the stairs by the 
nurse. 

“My dear,” Mrs. Vandoren said, “How is 
Mrs. Ihnley to-day?” 

The woman shook her head. “About as 
usual, madam; she has callers.” 

“Perhaps we’d better not go in?” 

“Oh, yes, Madam, yes, go in, it may be a 
hint for the others to go. They’re here every 
day, and, between calls, they use the tele- 
phone.” 

“But Mrs. Finley can’t answer the tele- 
phone?” 

“Yes, she can, she has a ’phone right by her 
bed. Come in.” 

They found the callers were Mrs. Montfort 
and Janet Preston. Jack greeted Mrs. Van- 
doren and the Lathams, and saw that they were 
seated. Ethel turned her head, paused in what 


249 


PAYING THE PIPER 

she was saying, but, after the shortest kind of 
a ‘‘how-dye-do,’’ she resumed where she had 
stopped. 

“You know very well. Jack, I told you she’d 
got to go. It’s all very well for you to play 
devoted father and say the children need her. 
Your first duty is to me, and that Ludlow 
woman’s got to go. I just won’t have her in 
the house.” 

“That’s the word. Jack,” laughed Mrs. 
Montfort, a big, dark-eyed, gray-haired, bold- 
faced woman in stunning purple from head to 
heel. 

“Yes,” chimed in Miss Preston, “it seems a 
shame that your wife must be tormented while 
in such a crippled state, by having a woman in 
the house who is as bad as Sally Ludlow; ” 

“Now will you please to drop this?” Jack 
said sternly. “I object to having our domestic 
arrangements discussed by outsiders. There’s 
no use of me reminding you, Ethel, that when 
we brought you home the other day in a dead 
faint, Sally was kindness and helpfulness per- 
sonified. I was no help at all for Carey and 
the nurse. Sally never comes near you, but 
she manages the whole house systematically 
and pleasantly, goes out and about with Helen 
and Cicely, and is in short, indispensable.” 

“Well, I guess all that’s left for me is ta go 
back to the hospital;” Ethel said resignedly. 

“You can’t, — they won’t have you. You 
should have stayed there.” 

“Jack, you’re downright cruel to a helpless 


250 PAYING THE PIPER 

and suffering woman, Miss Preston said 
severely. 

‘‘Miss Preston, did you get my letter of a 
few days agoP^ 

“You ought to know I got it when you took 
the pains to have it registered,’’ and the thick 
skin of her face showed a dark red flush. 

“Yes, I wanted to be sure of it. Now here 
comes Dr. Hillis. I think we’ll leave him with 
his patient.” 

Mrs. Vandoren approached the bed. “I hope 
you’ll soon be up and strong, Ethel. One has 
to be patient, ” 

“Yes, I know that,” she interrupted, “pa- 
tient not only with pain, but with a stubborn, 
profligate husband, and his meddling friends.” 

Her face was flushed, her hair was strag- 
gling about her face, from under the bandages, 
and her hands were trembling. 

Mrs. Latham merely stood by the bed and 
pressed Ethel’s hand, but the hand was en- 
tirely passive. Not even the twitching of a 
finger gave answer. 

As the callers left the room. Dr. Hillis said 
to J ack, with a frown and a shake of the head : 

“Too much company.” 

“I know it. Mrs. Vandoren and the Lat- 
hams had but just come in — hadn’t spoken a 
dozen words. Mrs. Montfort and Miss Pres- 
ton, I hear from the servants, are here every 
day. They were forbidden at the hospital.” 

“You must forbid them here. Give orders 
to the nurse. Give the servants down stairs 
orders. Of course you can’t be here all the 


PAYING THE PIPER 251 

time, and, youVe had warnings, Mr. Finley. 
Your wife is in a very critical state. 

know it, and she ought to know it, but 
since she made the trip from the hospital the 
other day, and is still alive, she^s quite unman- 
ageable. She has wonderful vitality, to keep 
up as she does.’’ 

‘‘Yes, she has, and her wonderful vitality has 
had a severe shock. It has been taxed almost 
to the limit. We must exercise care.” 

While the two men talked, they had stood 
by a heater near the door. When they ap- 
proached the bed, Ethel seemed quite uncon- 
scious of their presence until Dr. Hillis spoke 
to her. When she looked up at him, he did not 
quite hide his start of surprise. He laid his 
fingers on her wrist. 

“I’m better, am I not! much stronger, don’t 
you think so?” 

She twitched her wrist from his fingers and 
drew a hand glass from under her pillow. 

“Oh, yes, I’m much better. See what a color 
I have.” 

“Rather too much color, Mrs. Finley; you 
have some fever. You must not try to enter- 
tain callers. You really must not allow your 
friends to show their kindness in this way.” 

“It isn’t my friends who excite me and make 
me worse. It’s the management of my house 
that worries me; and the having in my house 
a woman who is my worst enemy. ’ ’ 

Jack arose from a chair near the bed, and be- 
gan pacing the floor. 

“Tut, tut, Mrs. Finley, don’t tell me of your 


252 


PAYING THE PIPEE 


domestic affairs, I know of two very efficient 
women you have. Your nurse is one, and I 
was very glad to have her on my waiting list 
when Dr. Finley asked for help. The other 
good woman opened the door for me — Sally 
Ludlow ; ’’ 

‘‘You know her? Well, I can tell you she’s 
not a good woman. She’s a snake.” 

“There, there now; don’t you like Sally? 
Well, she needn’t come near you ” 

“Jack, do keep still! You drive me crazy.” 

“The doctor turned from the bed: “Mr. 
Finley, will you kindly send nurse Barnet in ? ” 

Jack left the room with a sigh of relief. The 
nurse was at the door, evidently waiting to be 
called. Jack went down stairs and found Mrs. 
Vandoren and the Lathams in the parlor with 
the children. His face brightened. “I’m so 
glad you waited. ’ ’ 

Mrs. Latham said: “I couldn’t bear to go 
without seeing you and making some inquiries. 
It seems to me Ethel is too nervous to have 
much company. I thought Carey was in charge 
of her now.” 

“No, she flouted Carey for all she was worth, 
and he recommended Hillis — so did Drs. Knapp 
and Gould. I was fortunate to be able to se- 
cure him.” 

“Wouldn’t it have been better for her to 
have remained under the care of the hospital 
physicians who had charge from the first?” 
Mrs. Vandoren asked. 

“Not under the circumstances. You see with 
Ethel, it is doubly true that ‘Familiarity 


PAYING THE PIPER 


253 


breeds contempt.’ From the very nature of 
the profession one must be on very intimate 
terms with one’s doctor, and she had led 
Homer and Fifield such a dance, that I think 
they were heartily glad to get her out of the 
place. Of course they wouldn’t have thrown 
her out of the window, and they used every 
precaution to insure her safety. They tele- 
phone me every day, and Hillis hears from 
them too. But now, forty-eight hours and over 
since the transit, I think we may safely say 
there was no real harm done. Ethel is natur- 
ally very strong.” 

‘‘Did she bear the trip fairly well?” Latham 
asked. 

“Yes, better than was expected, though she 
was in a deadly swoon when we got here, and 
Carey was scared stitf. For a time all restora- 
tives failed, but Nurse Barnet was here, and 
she’s a dozen or two ordinary women, and 
Sally Ludlow has had a lot of miscellaneous 
experience, so I guess Ethel’s not much the 
worse for coming home.” 

“Dear me. Jack,” Flora said laughing, “she 
couldn’t be much worse and be alive, could 
she?” 

“No, I guess not.” 

The two little girls had sat in silence. They 
had come to an age, more especially Helen, 
when their mother’s storms of temper no 
longer deceived them. They had lost faith in 
her plea of nervousness, and accepted it only 
as a flimsy excuse when, angry perhaps about 
some trifle, she turned the house into the sem- 


254 


PAYING THE PIPER 


blance of a big cage where one wild woman ran 
at large and terrorized the other inmates. 
Helen sat on the seat in the wide window that 
looked into the street. There was silence in the 
room for a space, and, not addressing any one 
particularly, she said: 

‘‘Mama gets so in earnest about things, it’s 
a pity she doesn’t always think of something 
pleasant to say and do.” 

There was a general smile, and Jack quoted 
with his own addition: “Out of the mouths 
of babes,” more especially — my babies.” 


CHAPTER XXVII 


Thousands of people know how beautiful the 
grand ball-room of the Waldorf can be made 
for a dinner, breakfast, luncheon, ball or ba- 
zar. A few know something of the amount of 
work and planning that is required to bring 
about these results. The great room was never 
more beautiful than on this last day of the year 
at ten o’clock in the morning, when to the mu- 
sic of a band of string instruments, the women 
and girls, all in simple gowns of white, marched 
around the room, then up and down the aisles, 
until the whole place had been passed, in re- 
view, then back to the main entrance, and be- 
ginning all over again, each one dropped out 
of the procession as her own booth was 
reached. When this grand march was over, the 
doors were thrown open and the waiting crowd 
poured in. The room was filled comfortably 
at once and business was good. As the noon 
hour approached the tea room was thronged 
and the money changers were the busiest per- 
sons there, but, not entirely in changing money, 
since, because of the object, many women and 
more men put down a coin, or a bill with the 
words: ‘‘No change.” 

Many business houses, in consideration of 
the. hard work of their employes during the 
255 


256 


PAYING THE PIPEE 


fortnight preceding Christmas, gave a half hol- 
iday on the last day of the year, and hundreds 
of these were visiting the great charity bazar, 
to see how wealthy women and girls looked 
when playing at shop-keeping. As the schools 
were all closed, and there were many booths 
especially for children, there were thousands 
of them of all ages. As evening came on the 
crowd diminished slightly, though many re- 
mained, patronized the tea room for the eve- 
ning meal, as they expected to go home at ten 
when the dancing was to begin. At about five 
o’clock, many who expected to dance in the 
evening, went away for a quiet home dinner 
before dressing for the ball. Not one of all 
those in charge of booths had been busier than 
Genevieve Vandoren. Not one returned a 
larger amount of cash. During all the after- 
noon she had been so alert, so eager. Mrs. 
Perkins declared that she had made the round 
of the booths ten times, and every time Gen- 
evieve had held her up for ten dollars. Her 
booth was filled with small and costly toilet ar- 
ticles for women. At one time, toward the close 
of the afternoon, a party of men had gathered 
in front of her booth. How gay she was! and 
how witty. How she laughed and chatted and 
inveigled them into — almost a clearance sale of 
her stock. A small, gypsy-looking girl was go- 
ing about with a diamond ring on which she 
was selling chances. She carried a mandolin, 
on which she twanged to attract attention, to 
draw a circle about her. She stopped to listen 
to Genevieve’s merry talk to the men. Gene- 


PAYING THE PIPEE 


257 


vieve saw her, snatched the mandolin, and, to 
a few tinkling chords, for accompaniment, she 
sang, softly, tat clearly: 

‘‘Love’s arrows are tipped with a dollar or two. 

And affection is gained for a dollar or two. 

The best aid yon can meet in advancing yonr 
suit 

Is the eloquent chink, of a dollar or two.” 

There was laughter and hand clapping, and 
her tables were cleared instantly. The owner 
of the mandolin exclaimed : 

“Oh, Mrs. Vandoren, please, please sing for 
me! See this lovely ring, tit to ratify the en- 
gagement of a princess, and only a dollar a 
chance. Please sing for me, and sweet Char- 
ity’s sake.” 

“As soon as I finish here, I’m going out of 
business. My place will be torn down for a 
new building.” 

With deft fingers she assisted Katsu to wrap 
the last parcel of her beautiful wares, and, 
with a “thank you, gentlemen,” as if in dis- 
missal, knowing it to be the surest way to de- 
tain them, she took the mandolin, saying: 
“Hold the ring so the gentlemen can see it, 
Susie,” she sang a continuation of the same 
old-fashioned song: 

“Would you read yourself out of the bachelor 
crew. 

And the hand of a female divinity sue ; 

You must always be ready, the handsome to 
do, 

Although it should cost you, a dollar or two.” 


258 


PAYING THE PIPER 


Again there was laughter and applause, and 
the girPs slim fingers scribbled names and num- 
bers in her tablet and handed out tickets to the 
men in exchange for crisp-green bills. 

“Genevieve, you’re a brick!” Jansen said as 
the men, seeing there was no more amusement 
to be had in that quarter, wandered away. 

“Do you mean a gold brick!” she asked, 
laughing. 

“Yes, a real one. I never saw you half as 
handsome as you are to-day; but you’re tired. 
Here comes mother to take you home. Will you 
come to the dance!” 

“Oh, surely, I wouldn’t miss it for a fortune. 
I’m not letting any good thing go by me, these 
days.” 

“No, Gen, you’re not,” her mother said seri- 
ously. “I’m afraid you’re overdoing things a 
bit!” 

“Don’t worry, and don’t grudge me these 
few days of good times. ’ ’ 

“I’m sure I don’t grudge you anything that 
is good and pleasant for you. I’m only afraid 
you’ll injure yourself.” 

Again she said: “Don’t worry. I know 
what I can stand,” and with merry au revoirs, 
she passed along the hall. A few days later 
so many of that gay company recalled her 
words, her manners, her gayety, and her sing- 
ing of that afternoon. 

Mrs. Vandoren had assisted in the furnishing 
of many of the booths, and she was a liberal 
patron of many. When she was not about the 
room meeting her many friends, she sat in the 


PAYING THE PIPER 


259 


home-made candy booth with Katherine and 
Lonise, and assisted them. On one occasion of 
this kind Mrs. Montfort and Miss Preston came 
and made a few small purchases of Katherine. 

“Oh, there’s your mother,” Mrs. Montfort 
exclaimed, trying to make believe she had just 
caught sight of the very insignificant Mrs. 
Vandoren. Then both she and Miss Preston 
bowed. Mrs. Vandoren returned their greet- 
ings indifferently, expecting them to pass on. 
Mrs. Montfort had no such idea. She stood, 
putting on an air of familiarity as she said : 

“I suppose we’re all barred from Ethel’s 
room still, by that quack, Hillis?” 

“I believe,” was the quiet reply, “that Dr. 
Hillis insists on absolute rest for her. I hear 
from her every day, and, as I know her to be 
very excitable, I think her physician is wise to 
forbid company.” 

“Oh, these doctors make a good many mis- 
takes,” Miss Preston said loftily. 

She was a large, muscular woman of forty 
or more, with strong, masculine features, coarse 
dark hair, and eyes of a nondescript color, but 
as Jack Finley declared to Ethel, “like a fish.” 
Her years of teaching in the public schools 
had added sharpness to her naturally dicta- 
torial manner, until she was really domineer- 
ing. Her long association with children, in- 
ferior to her in the small matter of text book 
learning, had made it difficult for her to under- 
stand her relative position in the presence of 
gently bred men and women. Mrs. Vandoren 
having in mind her attempted dictation in the 


260 PAYING THE PIPER 

matter of her tenant of a year ago, treated her 
with an indifference, that, to one just a trifle 
more sensitive would have been more galling 
than the cut direct. Mrs. Vandoren had been 
heard to say that very few people were really 
worth the cut direct. It made them seem more 
important than if they were treated with bare 
toleration. Evidently, this method was at fault 
— with Miss Preston. She and Mrs. Montfort 
stood and talked on. 

don’t believe but that Ethel could use her 
leg just as well as ever if they’d allow her to 
try,” Mrs. Montfort said. ‘AVhat’s a sprain? 
I’ve cured dozens of them amongst my boys. 
If I could get past that lanky nurse, I’d see if 
she can’t walk.” 

‘^Yes, I’m sure,” from Miss Preston, ‘Ghat 
amongst them they’re ruining her nerves, par- 
ticularly those of her back, keeping her in bed 
so long. It’s no wonder she’s irritable. I think 
her mother-in-law is much to blame for it. She 
knows Jack doesn’t care for Ethel, and she 
wants him to have a good time running about 
without her. I think it’s time she’d be shown 
up in her true character. ’ ’ 

‘^You’ll please excuse me. Miss Preston,” 
Mrs. Vandoren said, rising from her chair; 
^‘Mrs. Finley senior is an old friend of mine, 
and one of the best women I’ve ever known. 
I can’t allow you to express any such opinions 
in my presence. Besides, you and Mrs. Mont- 
fort are inconveniencing persons who wish to 
make purchases. Will you please to pass on?” 

For an instant the two looked impudently 


PAYING THE PIPER 


261 


defiant. Mrs. Vandoren, who seemed to be 
barely conscious of their presence, bnt, with a 
slight elevation of her chin, and a lift of a fin- 
ger, she signalled an officer, who stood near. 

^‘Captain,’’ she said, ^‘will yon please see 
that this aisle is kept clear? Some of the 
women are inclined to stand against the table 
and gossip, and they block the way.^^ 

‘^Certainly, Madam and the two women, 
glaring spitefully, walked away. 

‘^Motherkins, yon^re simply perfection. I 
wondered how long those two cumberers were 
going to loaf here. People stare so at the 
Montfort woman.’’ 

‘‘Yes, and isn’t it queer,” Louise said, “she 
takes it all as admiration. She seems to hold 
her face out, away from her, so that no one will 
miss seeing it. Her style is so loud!” 

“That’s it,” Max put in. He was helping 
the girls, and he declared to all questioners 
that he was employed as freight agent. “You 
know, ’ ’ he continued, ‘ ‘ the other day there was 
a great racket coming down the Drive, and I 
ran out to see where the fire was. There was 
nothing in sight but Mrs. Montfort in her pur- 
ple suit.” 

“Take care, Max,” his mother reproved, 
“little boys shouldn’t critisize women of Mrs. 
Montfort ’s age.” 

“You know, Muddy, it seems to me rather a 
mistake to respect a woman just because she’s 
old. You know sometimes, the older people 
get the worse they are. They get the habit of 
being mean.” 


262 


PAYING THE PIPER 

‘‘Perhaps there’s something in that, but 
really, Mrs. Montfort is not one of ns. She’s 
not onr kind. If she was I’d not find it neces- 
sary to ask for the protection of the police. ’ ’ 

“Isn’t that shocking? Jnst the sound of it;” 
Katherine said, and Louise : 

“It seems to me the worst thing I’ve ever 
heard said against Mrs. Montfort is the bar- 
barous way in which she’s brought up her boys. 
The two of them, who are grown, fight till they 
make each, other’s face bleed, and the neigh- 
bors say the noise they make is horrid. They’re 
but barely tolerated in the schools where 
they’re sent; and the one who’s at home — he 
must be nearly, if not quite your age. Max?” 

“Yes, nearly. I’m less than a year older.” 

“You know I’ve been told he’s simply a ter- 
ror in the neighborhood, and one day when his 
mother was going out, was on the front step, 
he followed her with a siphon of vichy, and 
threw it over her until she had to go back and 
change her clothes.” 

“Such behaviour in a boy his age; but, his 
mother says, ‘Sammy is so full of life,’ ” said 
Katherine. “Max you’re bad, but you’re not 
fiendish. ’ ’ 

“Does that leave the question open?. May 
it be implied that I’m angelic? — Oh, there 
comes the lady of the garter — ^just observe the 
majesty.” 

“Where? Where?” 

“There, now you have a side-view; see the 
sylph in pale blue?” 

The laugh that followed was because the 


' PAYING THE PIPER 


263 


sylph/* built over the pattern of a Dutch 
churn, would surely weigh not less than two 
hundred pounds. 

‘‘Here conies Mr. Rogers and Lucia,’’ Mrs. 
Vandoren said. “Now girls, don’t pester him 
too much.” 

“No, mother, we won’t need to.” 

It was just as Genevieve and her mother were 
coming down the centre aisle ; Genevieve talk- 
ing to a changing group of people that sur- 
rounded her, and Susie Carroll telling her how 
she had sold a million chances on the ring be- 
cause of Mrs. Vandoren ’s fetching little song. 

“What was it, Genevieve?” Katherine asked, 
eagerly. “Please sing it for us, that’s a good 
little sister. Look at all these packages of de- 
lectable candy. They ought to be sold. Per- 
haps we could sell them for a song.” 

Genevieve smiled and shook her head. 

“Mother says I mustn’t sing any more. 
She’s afraid it isn’t dignified.” 

Rogers stopped at the candy booth: “Max, 
son, run about here and round up a lot of these 
children ; hustle now. Kate, Louise, how many 
packages have you? Put them out here, and put 
this money into your cash drawer. Ah, here 
comes the purchasers,” as Mrs. Finley, Celeste 
and three small boys came up? The smallest 
of the three was a beautiful child of three or 
four years, very much like his Spanish Ameri- 
can mother, excepting his hair, which was a 
pale golden brown, but with the promise made 
by dark eye-lashes to be black as he grew older. 
Rogers seized the boy, pulled a packing case 


264 / PAYING THE PIPEE 


from where it was partly hidden by the table 
and stood him upon it. 

‘'Now, Guy, I want you to recite, good and 
loud, that speech you gave us last night. Ee- 
member 1 ’ ’ 

“Vich one, Unk. TomT’ 

“Which one? Why the ‘sing a song o’ six- 
pence.’ ” 

“Oh, yes,” and the boy’s dark eyes flashed. 

Mrs. Montfort and Miss Preston came wan- 
dering by, and the latter craned over the heads 
of the gathering crowd till she caught Mrs. 
Vandoren’s eye, and she called out: “Where’s 
that policeman to clear the aisle?” 

But the lady addressed gave no heed, and the 
two stopped, to be joined by Mrs. Bushnell. 
They stood together, and were wondering what 
was happening, and then little Guy’s baby 
voice, loud, clear and well sustained, recited: 

“Sing a song o’ sixpence; 

A pocket full of lies. 

Five and thirty millions. 

Scattered to the skies. 

Don’t cry if you lose ’em, 

I’ve told you that before; 

Same old girl who made ’em 
Has forty millions more.” 

Such applause ! such screams of laughter, and 
such exclamations over the child’s beauty and 
his clear enunciation! 

“Oh, I’m all in the shade,” Genevieve de- 
clared. “Why, Celeste!” she continued, “it’s 


' PAYING THE PIPER 265 

astonishing; he ^s a mere baby ! How have you 
been able to teach himP’ 

“He’s not very old, and we’ve never taken 
any pains to teach him. He remembers readily, 
and his Uncle Jack delights in teaching him 
ridiculous things.” 

“Uncle Jack!” Mrs. Bushnell sneered to her 
friends. “Just about coarse enough for Uncle 
Jack.” 

Then came Max, convoying a long procession 
of children of all sorts and sizes. “Please, Mr. 
Officer, clear the way to that candy booth. 
There’s going to be a run on the sand bank.” 

“Aha!” and the big smiling “bluecoat” 
flourished his stick, and with a “Please, 
Ma’am,” or “By your leave, sor,” he led the 
way to where Rogers stood, both hands full of 
packages of candy. 

“Here you are, little lady, only one for each, 
it will be all you need to insure a nice little 
stomach ache, pass right on; here, my boy, 
don’t be greedy, one only — step lively, and 
make way for the ladies — girls, will you have 
enough? Max, go and get some things from 
that doll shop,” and he handed him a bill — 
‘ ‘ get as many as that will buy, and hurry. And 
now, little girls, all who would rather have a 
doll than candy, stand there in a row. ’ ’ 

Max returned with arms full of boxes, each 
one of which held a small dressed doll. This 
was kept going until the last one of the children 
to be found in the room had received a gift. 

As the procession was filing by, a plainly 
dressed woman leading two as plainly dressed 


266 


PAYING THE PIPER 


little girls, said softly: ‘‘Wish the gentlemen 
a Happy New Year.’' 

They did, and the children following heard, 
and there was a chorus of child voices wishing 
Happy New Year. Suddenly Katherine leaned 
over the table and said to a bright little boy: 
“Happy New Year, Uncle Tom.” The child 
laughed, looked from the pretty girl to the 
generous, big, elderly man, and repeated. The 
words were taken up until the whole place re- 
sounded with “Happy New Year, Uncle Tom.” 
Rogers turned to Katherine, and those near 
enough were surprised to see that his wide 
merry blue eyes were swimming as he drew her 
half way across the table and kissed her. 

“Kate, darling girl, you will break my heart 
one of these days. Now you’re all sold out. 
Get your hat and run home. You look tired. ’ ’ 


CHAPTER XXVIII 


Contrary to the expectations of the Jack 
Finley household, Ethel made no special com- 
plaint of her lack of company after Monday. 
On that one day, she stormed and sulked by 
turns, but, as she received a number of letters 
on that and the two succeeding days, she 
seemed well content. Fortunately it was her 
left arm that was broken ; and she was not de- 
prived of the ability to answer her letters. On 
the morning of the opening of the bazar, she 
was quite cheerful, and when her daughters 
took leave of her, she was almost affectionate. 
She even told them to bring in Sally Ludlow to 
see her. She handed the woman a very liberal 
bank note, telling her to buy something for a 
New Yearns gift for herself. 

She was so gracious, that the members of the 
household had a few prickings of conscience. 
Perhaps they had not been sufficiently patient ; 
had not made due allowance for the pain, the 
nervous torture and the imprisonment indoors 
in the gayest season of the year. This change 
in her conduct acted like a breeze of balm over 
the house. An air of peace and kindliness per- 
vaded the place. There was nothing said, no 
resolves were spoken, but it is fair to suppose 
267 


268 


PAYING THE PIPER 


that each one tacitly pledged him or herself to 
be gentle, considerate, patient. Jack was 
pleased as he was surprised. He had fully ex- 
pected the day to open with a storm, and he had 
faced the prospect, mentally, of remaining 
away from the ball. This he could do, since all 
arrangements were made, and the committee 
was an able one. However, he would not say 
that it would not be a disappointment. He was 
exceedingly social and peace-loving by nature 
and training, and as he had been interested in 
this ball from the first, he would have felt it a 
sacrifice to give it up now. Ethel had given 
him her version of the reasons the committee 
had had for leaving her out of their list of pa- 
tronesses, and he was still, at thirty-six, boy 
enough to wish to contradict, publicly, so ab- 
surd a story. 

In the morning he had wondered at the un- 
usual cheerfulness of his wife, and in the eve- 
ning when he came home for dinner his wonder 
grew and grew. Ethel was in the very happiest 
frame of mind. She listened to the account of 
the day, given by Helen and Cicely, inspected 
their purchases, laughed over the story of little 
Guy’s declamation, said what a lovely little 
cousin he was for the girls, and, to the utter as- 
tonishment of Jack, had no word of complaint 
to make against his mother. 

When he came to say good-night to her be- 
fore leaving the house, she said to him: 

‘^Poor Barnett is dead tired. I wish you’d 
induce her to drink this glass of sherry, and 
then lie there in the alcove and rest. See, I’m 


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PAYING THE PIPER 

all ready for the night, and I’m sleeping so 
well now, I’ll not need her. If I do, she’s such 
a light sleeper. I’ll only need to speak. This 
is of the wine that Dr. Hillis prescribed for me. 
Do insist on her drinking it. I’m afraid she 
may break down.” 

‘‘All right, no donbt it will do her good. 
Here she comes. Miss Barnett,” as she entered 
the room, “Mrs. Finley’s feeling so well, now 
that she’s got those unsightly bandages off her 
head, she’s beginning to think the rest of us 
need taking care of. You really do look a bit 
fagged. You’d better drink this glass of 
sherry, and lie down there in the alcove.” 

“Yes,” Ethel interrupted, “put on your 
kimono and be comfortable. I’m sleepy now,” 
and she yawned noisily. “I’ll be glad to know 
everybody’s resting.” 

Jack left the room, more than delighted that 
the evening was his own without restriction, 
and without unpleasant memories. Miss Bar- 
nett was not averse to the proffered rest. Her 
patient was one of the most exacting she had 
ever cared for, and as it was not considered 
necessary, from the nature of the case, to have 
two nurses, her work had been very hard. 
When she had made herself comfortable in her 
night uniform, she came in, and Ethel said 
laughingly: “Don’t forget your medicine. 

This is of the wine that Dr. Hillis ordered for 
me, and I’m sure you need it, too.” 

The nurse drained the glass, and remarked, 
as she put it down: “This sherry has a bitter 
tang.” 


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‘‘Yes, I think it has a dash of orange bitters 
in it. It’s an invalid’s wine, not the ordinary 
table sherry — it’s a tonic;” but Ethel did not 
look at her nurse as she talked. 

It was only a few moments, until, in the quiet 
of the room, the regular breathing of the nurse 
could be distinctly heard. Ethel smiled, then 
she half raised herself on her sound arm and 
listened. The regular breathing was not quite 
so loud, but she heard it and laughed outright. 
“Dead to all her cares,” she said, and raised 
herself until she sat upright. “Oh!” and she 
writhed in pain. “I’ll bear it, I’m bound to. 
My stays will brace me up, and that’s what I 
need — now if those women don’t come. I’ll — ” 

What she would do was not said, for at that 
moment the door from the hall opened, and, 
silent as shadows, in came Mrs. Montfort and 
Janet Preston. Ethel raised her hand, and in 
a loud whisper : “ Wait a minute ; — nurse, ’ ’ in 
an ordinary tone. No answer. The visitors 
stood like statues. Ethel repeated much louder : 
“Nurse, Miss Barnett,” not a movement, nor 
a sound but the low re^lar breathing. 

“Dead to the world and all its troubles,” 
Janet said. “Now do you really think you’re 
equal to this?” 

“Equal to it? Of course I am. I know this 
pain in my back is because I’ve been used to my 
stays. Many are the times I’ve got up in the 
morning after a ten hours’ rest, with a back- 
ache, and putting on my corsets, and moving 
around a bit always helped me.” 


PAYING THE PIPER 271 

‘‘Where are all the folks 1 We didnT see a 
soul as we came in.’’ 

“I suppose they’ve all gone out but Ludlow 
and the children. They were at the bazar all 
day, and most likely they’ve gone to bed.” 

“Good thing you remembered to send me the 
key,” and Mrs. Montfort laid it dn the table. 

“Better keep it, we’ll need it when we come 
back. ’ ’ 

“Don’t you suppose that dear devoted hus- 
band of yours will insist on bringing you 
home ! ’ ’ 

“No, of course he won’t. He’ll stay in the 
ballroom till the very last painted Jezebel re- 
fuses to dance with him because he’s too drunk. 
I ’m only going to prove that I can go. I ’ll not 
want to stay long. Now get my clothes and 
we’ll see if I’m going to begin the New Year 
in bed. My hair will need piecing out a bit, to 
cover the scars.” 

The two women exchanged glances, and Mrs. 
Montfort grinned broadly, while Janet Pres- 
ton’s smile was a badly disguised sneer. The 
process of dressing was slow. The injured knee 
and ankle refused to be pressed into service 
for more than a minute, or less, without a re- 
cess, and the spinal pain was so intense that 
several times the two able-bodied conspirators 
were upon the point of declaring they would not 
go on. But Ethel insisted. She would take a 
sip of wine; then a glass of water, then a few 
minutes at an open window, and, at last, a 
soiled pink silk ball dress was covered by an 
equally soiled white opera cloak, and, limping, 


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groaning, supported between the two, she was 
led to the bead of the stairs. 

‘^Oh, how will I ever get down?” she laughed 
and groaned, as they paused. 

‘‘We can carry you,” Miss Preston declared. 
“Here, Molly, put your hands this way — don’t 
you know? make a saddle. You’ve done this 
hundreds of times when you were a child. Now, 
Ethel, put your arm round my neck, and sit well 
back. Don’t try to use your bandaged arm. 
There now, shut your eyes. You’re not heavy 
for the two of us.” 

So she was carried down the stairs, down the 
high stoop, and, with the help of the driver, put 
into a closed carriage. 

“Isn’t it a lark?” and she laughed hys- 
terically. 

“I hope we’ll see Jack’s face when he sees 
you,” Mrs. Montfort said. 

“I suppose his mother’ll have a regular fit,” 
and Miss Preston sniffed. 

‘ ‘ She ’ll find it takes more than a broken bone 
or two to put me out of commission,” and 
Ethel laughed as she told how sweet and lovely 
she had been for the last two days. “But, 
Molly! are you quite certain we haven’t put 
Barnett to sleep sure enough? How long do 
you suppose she’ll sleep?” 

‘ ‘ There ’s no telling. She ’s not used to taking 
anaesthetics, and the powders will have more 
effect, but she ’ll probably waken towards morn- 
ing.” 

“I’d like to see her if she wakes before I get 
back to my little bed.” 


PAYING THE PIPER 


273 


The three laughed hilariously, and the car- 
riage drew up at the north entrance of the Wal- 
dorf under the wide porte-cochere. When they 
entered the ballroom it happened that they 
were not immediately recognized by any one, 
and they made their way to one side of the 
room, and Ethel was placed in a chair. She 
was dizzy and faint with pain, and Miss Pres- 
ton hurried away to the tea room for a glass of 
water. When she returned, those near Ethel 
noticed that she was very white, and seemed 
about to faint, but, in the great crowd, very few 
knew her, and those who noticed her at all did 
not know but she had been dancing and was 
tired. 

Even Jack whirled by in a waltz with Louise 
Rudolph without seeing the party. After a few 
moments of rest Ethel was sufficiently revived 
to look about her as the waltz ended and the 
centre of the room was partially clear. Others 
looked about, too. 

It happened that Jack was standing half way 
across the width of the room, where he had led 
Louise *to a seat beside her mother. In the 
midst of an exchange of pleasantries with Mrs. 
Rudolph, he glanced casually around the 
room. Ethel and her escort had been watch- 
ing him, steadily, and perhaps their concen- 
trated attention drew his gaze to themselves. 
However that may be, he suddenly saw the trio 
and as suddenly stopped in the midst of what 
he was saying. 

‘^Mr. Finley!’^ Louise exclaimed, ‘‘do you 
see a ghost? How startled you look.’’ 


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— I — am startled. Are my eyes unreli- 
able? Try yours. Look over there. Is that 
my wife in the chair, between Mrs. Montfort 
and Miss Preston, or isn’t it?” 

‘Ht looks like her, but, I never saw Mrs. Fin- 
ley but a few times, and, that lady is so very 
pale.” 

Dr. Finley sauntered up to them. 

“Look here, Carey, over there. Is that 
Ethel, or do my eyes deceive me?” 

The doctor gave one hurried glance. 

“Well, by the Lord Harry! and that Mont- 
fort woman and Janet Preston with her!” 

“Now, what’s to be done?” 

“Nothing in a hurry; wait a minute. Jack — 
listen ; she has no idea of the rashness of what 
she’s done, and for the credit of common hu- 
manity let us hope the others don’t realize their 
damned impertinence. Why, it may be murder 
in cold blood. Did Ethel say anything about 
coming? Did she say she wanted to come?” 

“Not one word — ” and he gave a hurried re- 
cital of the occurrences of the last two days. 
“I can’t imagine,” he continued, “how the 
nurse came to let her out, or these women in. 
You may be sure they’re at the head of the 
whole damnable business.” 

“Well, come and speak to her; mind, you 
want to act as if it was the most ordinary thing 
in the world for her to be here. Don’t, for the 
Lord’s sake, startle or irritate her.” 

Accordingly the two walked slowly towards 
Ethel and her friends. By the time they had 
reached her chair, others had recognized her 


PAYING THE PIPER 


275 


and were pouring out wondering exclamations 
on all sides. Dr. Finley spoke cautiously to the 
first of the circle with whom he came in contact, 
telling in a few words the truth of the situation, 
atid they quietly walked away. When Jack had 
made his way to EthePs chair, he said, with a 
show of carelessness, though his face was color- 
less: ‘^So you decided to come at lastP^ 

Ethel looked surprised. ^‘You talk as if I had 
consulted you about coming.’’ 

^‘Oh, no, I didn’t mean to infer that, nor that 
you had consulted any one; but, you seemed so 
well this evening, — did Barnett come with 
you 1 ’ ’ 

The three women laughed, and Ethel loudest 
of all. 

^‘No, Barnett’s fast asleep. I suppose she’s 
not accustomed to sherry.” 

‘^No, I guess not,” Jack said slowly, and see- 
ing the uncontrolled hilarity of Mrs. Montfort 
and Miss Preston, he had a swift thought that 
made his head swim. Knowing his wife and her 
friends as he did, he guessed the truth, and a 
great anger seized him. How his hands grew 
tense and savage with his desire to literally 
throttle these two unscrupulous women who had 
taken this chance to lure this foolish, helpless 
wife of his to the very gate of death or, per- 
haps worse. 

Dr. Finley had held Ethel’s hand, with fin- 
gers on her wrist, while she talked, and his 
face was serious in spite of himself. His 
mother and his wife came up, but a look, and a 
shake of his head put them on their guard, and 


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they spoke to Ethel as if they had half expected 
to see her there. 

Some of the company had been clamoring for 
a barn dance that was not on the program. The 
band, in their bower of palms in the balcony, 
gave the signal. Jack said, nonchalantly, bnt 
his intended smile developed into a ghastly 
grin : ‘ ‘ You won T try this 1 ’ ’ 

He spoke so naturally that Ethel, deceived, 
answered in the same tone: ‘‘Oh, no, IT not 
try to dance, I’m not going to stay long. You 
go, now, I didn’t come as a spoil-sport. You 
go, too, Carey. Come; I won’t have you watch- 
ing my pulse. You’ll make me nervous, 
whether I am or not.” 

“All right; you see I’ve got the habit of 
holding wrists. Other men hold hands, you 
know,” and he laid her hand, very gently, on 
the arm of the chair. 

Jack turned to go, but came back. “You say 
you don’t care to stay long!” 

“No; I wanted to come just to let you and 
the doctors and everybody see that I’m able to 
come; and I’m not going to be cooped up in 
bed all winter.” 

“No, of course not. You must go out, if 
you’re really well enough, but as soon as you’re 
ready to go, let me know, and I’ll take you 
home. ’ ’ 

Mrs. Montfort and Miss Preston protested. 
They had brought her, and they would take her 
home. 

“Very well, we’ll see about it,” and he saun- 
tered away. His mother joined him when he 


PAYING THE PIPER 


277 


was hidden by the dancers. She had been talk- 
ing to Carey. They drew J ack aside ; Dr. Fin- 
ley was fairly storming. 

^‘‘It’s the maddest thing that ever two women 
did. You may be sure they put up the job. 
We all know all about Ethel’s frightful tem- 
per ; but, she ’d never do a thing like this unless 
urged into it by a worse person.” 

‘^But,” Mrs. Finley asked, ‘^how could the 
nurse be drugged?” 

‘^Easiest thing in the world,” Jack answered. 
‘^I fell into the trap — unsuspecting little boy 
that I am. Ethel had a glass of wine on her 
table. She insisted that I tell the nurse to drink 
it — tired, needed a tonic and rest, and a lot of 
make-believe sympathetic rot. Of course she 
drank it, with the drug, that one or the other 
of these she cobras supplied. ’ ’ 

‘‘Well, hang about somewhere within easy 
call. I ’ll keep an eye on Ethel. I hope she may 
go home not much, if any the worse for this 
damned fool trip, but, she may collapse at any 
minute. ’ ’ 

And the band played its merriest, and the 
dancers danced their gayest, while the Old 
Year neared its end, and two men of that sev- 
eral hundred moved about, seemingly occupied 
with taking part in the largest ball of the sea- 
son, but in reality watching for the least fluctua- 
tion in the color, the least change in the expres- 
sion of the face of a little woman in her evening 
finery leaning languidly back in her chair. It 
was noticeable, amongst those who knew her, 
that Miss Preston did not dance ; though she 


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stood up, quite alone, conspicuous because of 
her size and her pale blue gown, decollete to 
the ultimate verge of immodesty. She was un- 
popular with women because of her domineer- 
ing temper, and she was too heavy, both phys- 
ically and mentally, to attract men. Mrs. Mont- 
fort strolled around the room on the arm of a 
dissolute foreigner whose name had been 
coupled with her own the year before in a scan- 
dal that, though known to many people, the 
most daring of the sensational press hesitated 
to print excepting in its scantest outlines. 

Jack Finley kept himself not far from 
Ethel’s chair, and far from guessing the truth. 
Miss Preston remarked waspishly to Mrs. 
Bushnell, who chaperoned her granddaughter: 

suppose Mr. Finley has some chorus girl 
waiting about, for Ethel to disappear.” 

‘Hsn’t it shameful!” was the righteous reply. 

And Jack continued to enact his part as one 
of the hosts of the ball, by seeing that men who 
danced were not idle, and that women and 
girls were not neglected. With it all, he kept 
furtive watch of Ethel, and so did his brother. 
It was well they did. The barn dance was fin- 
ished, the music was hushed for a space. Ethel 
was in the midst of a lively conversation with 
Mrs. Montfort and the villainous-faced Rus- 
sian, when suddenly she stopped in the middle 
of a sentence ; there came a scared look in her 
laughing eyes, the right side of her face was 
drawn back, leaving her teeth bare. The dis- 
tortion was frightful. She attempted to move, 
to continue her talk, to raise her hand. Only 


279 


PAYING THE PIPER 

an incoherent sound came of her efforts, which 
was horrible, because human. Then, appar- 
ently lifeless, she was slipping from her chair. 
Jack gathered her in his arms, drew the hood 
of her cloak over the distorted face, heedless 
of all the clamor, and carried her out of the 
room, out of the house, into the streets of the 
great city that never sleeps. Outside, lights 
were flaring, bells were ringing, horns were 
blowing farewell and all hail. Every cafe and 
restaurant was crowded with merrymakers who 
were speeding the hour with jest and song and 
wine. Churches were open, holding solemn 
service and rejoicing; and down Broadway 
crowds that blackened the street from wall to 
wall, and made it barely possible for the trol- 
ley cars to pass, surged and shouted, and lis- 
tened to the chimes of Old Trinity. There, in 
the midst of its own city of the dead, year after 
year, the old church bells ring the Old Year 
out and the New Year in. Jack’s mind was like 
a kaleidoscope. He seemed to see all the New 
Year’s eves from his infancy till now. He re- 
called, unconsciously, how as a youth, as a col- 
lege student, as a grown man, he had kept the 
New Year vigil. Standing out distinctly was 
the memory of the first New Year after his 
marriage. To Ethel it was all strange, wonder- 
ful, fascinating. He had taken her down to 
hear the Trinity chimes, and the story of the 
place, which Jack had known always was to 
her as a new book. In the hidden places of his 
brain now came forth some lines from a poem 
he had fancied long ago, and they spun them- 


280 


PAYING THE PIPER 


selves in time with the wheels of his brother’s 
car as they sped on their way : 

‘‘There is mockery in onr wooing, there is 
death in all onr houses; 

He liveth best who loveth least — the fool alone 
espouses ; 

The bridal chaplet that we wear our brows 
serene adorning, 

Fades in the spectral night that dims the danc- 
ing eyes of morning.” 


CHAPTER XXIX 


‘Ht’s merely a question of time, and, the time 
may be long or short. EthePs very strong, but 
the shock was a severe one. The wonder is that 
it did not produce instant death. Such an etfort 
as she must have made, even to leave her bed; 
and then to be dressed, and carried down stairs 
by those two awkward fools of women. I won- 
der that she’s alive.” 

‘^Rather a pity that she is,” Dr. Hillis an- 
swered, and Carey thought his voice was un- 
professionally resentful. It was in the gray of 
the dawn of the first day of the year, and the 
two doctors were in the dining room of the 
Jack Finley house, having hot coffee and toast 
before going away after their hours of work. 
Carey’s mother sat at the table with them. She 
looked wan and weary as she sipped her coffee 
in silence, after asking one question of the doc- 
tors. It was one o’clock that morning when 
they reached home with Ethel wrapped in her 
soiled finery, her poor distorted face hidden in 
her cloak. 

Dr. Hillis had been summoned while they 
were still in the hotel, and he reached the house 
with them. From that hour till now the two 
physicians had applied all the remedies known 
281 


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PAYING THE PIPEE 


to science to no purpose. Ethel lived, but could 
neither speak nor move. Her sight remained, 
and in answer to tests it was known that she 
could hear. They had found the nurse in a 
sleep that so closely resembled the stupor pre- 
ceding death that at first it seemed useless to 
try to waken her. But, after an hour^s work, 
she had been aroused sufficiently to be walked 
about the room, and know something of what 
had happened. She was left to the care of Sally 
Ludlow, and now she sat in a high-backed chair 
in Sally’s room, weak and listless. She said 
she had but a hazy remembrance of lying down 
in the alcove, so powerful was the opiate she 
had taken in the wine, though she remembered 
distinctly what had gone before, and what Mrs. 
Finley had said about the bitter taste of the 
wine. The glass still stood on the table, con- 
trary to the nurse ’s usual habit of washing and 
putting away every cup, glass or dish used in a 
sick room. A few drops remained in the glass. 
Dr. Hillis put it on his tongue. “Opium, good 
and plenty,” and he covered the glass, as he 
said “for future reference.” 

What had passed between the time of Miss 
Barnett drinking the wine, and Ethel’s appear- 
ance in the ballroom, could only be guessed. 
Sally said that she had gone with the children 
to their own room, directly after they had 
dined. Their room was a flight higher than 
their mother’s, and in the rear of the house. 
Her own room adjoined the children’s. They 
were in bed by nine o ’clock, directly after they 
had said good-night to their father as he was 


PAYING THE PIPER 


283 


leaving the house. Before Sally went to bed, 
within a half hour later, she said she had gone 
to the basement. She found the range fire taken 
care of, the lights turned low in the halls, and 
everything in usual order. Butler, housemaid 
and cook were out, but as they had keys of their 
own she did not wait up for them. As she went 
upstairs she had listened at Mrs. Finley ^s door, 
but, hearing no sound, concluded that both 
nurse and patient were asleep. Then she had 
gone to bed, and being very tired, was soon in 
a sound sleep, from which she was awakened by 
Dr. Finley’s mother asking her to get up and 
help with both Ethel and the nurse. 

Jack came into the dining room and slouched 
into a chair : ‘ ‘ Give me a cup, mother. ’ ’ 

‘‘You must go to bed, son,” as she gave him 
his cotfee and toast. 

His answer was only a grunt as he put a 
spoonful of brandy into his cup. Then, looking 
at the two men : 

“Nice way to begin the year.” 

“Might be worse,” Dr. Hillis answered. 

“No, I think not. If you mean death, I still 
say no.” 

“While there’s life, you know, ” 

“Not in this case. It’s horrible. Do you 
think the same might have happened anyway?” 

“It might; you know they feared it, before 
she was brought home; but, she seemed to be 
gaining strength and composure of mind for 
the last few days, and that augured an improve- 
ment, a control over the nerves. She needed 
quiet, regularity of sleep, and — well, she had 


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these, and, I felt sure her system generally was 
responding to the care. I reported to Dr. 
Knapp yesterday afternoon that she was in a 
most favorable condition. 

‘^And all this time, this plan was going for- 
wardi Since she ’s asleep I Ve been looking for 
evidence against those — worse than thieves, and 
I ’ve found it. ’ ’ 

He took from the breast pocket of his smok- 
ing jacket, a small parcel of letters — three or 
four. 

‘‘Ethel was always careless about letters, in 
fact she’s careless about everything. These 
tell the story.” He passed an open sheet to his 
brother: “Read it aloud. You see it bears 
date of Monday.” 

Dr. Finley read: “You dear, suffering 
angel, cut off from the only friends who care 
for you. I suppose your libertine husband and 
his dragon mother will torture you to death. 
Nothing less will satisfy them. They’ll keep 
you in bed, without exercise, when that, and a 
breath of fresh, outdoor air are so necessary 
for you, till your nerves are ready to snap into 
rags and tatters, and your blood is turned to 
lukewarm water. You will surely miserably 
perish if you’re left to them. Janet and I have 
talked the matter all over, and we’ll help you 
if you care to be helped. You shall go to the 
ball, and astonish Jack in his debauchery, and 
his mother in her bare-faced, shameless assist- 
ance of one of the worst cases of human de- 
pravity I have ever known. You’ll get a letter 


PAYING THE PIPEE 285 

from J anet to-day, and if you want our help, let 
us know. Yours, devotedly — Molly. 

‘Hs that Mrs. MontforPs nameP’ Dr. Hillis 
asked; “she may deny it if there’s no other 
signature. ’ ’ 

Dr. Finley passed the letter to him. “You 
see, it’s on her own specially marked station- 
ery. It’s a nasty trick, and very awkwardly 
done. ’ ’ 

“This of same date,” and Jack handed to his 
brother another letter, “is from Janet Pres- 
ton, and of about the same tenor. It seems in- 
credible that two women, supposedly sane, 
could be so foolhardy and full of venom. It 
really looks as if, in spite of their protestations 
of affection for Ethel, they had deliberately 
planned to do her the worst possible injury.” 

“They’ve done it, whether they meant to or 
not. This simply repeats Montfort,” and Dr. 
Finley laid the letter on the table. 

“Here’s the one that brought the drug for 
the nurse. This is from Montfort. She’s quite 
hilarious over it — gives directions, even speci- 
fying wine, and what to say if Barnett notices 
the bitter taste.” 

‘ ‘ I wonder if that happened, ’ ’ Dr. Hillis said. 

“Yes, I’ve been to Ludlow’s room and I’ve 
seen the nurse. She says that’s about the last 
thing she remembers before being overcome by 
drowsiness. Ethel urged her to drink the wine 
and she did so, without stopping to taste it. 
That when she remarked the bitter, she was 
told that it was a medicated sherry, especially 
for invalids or persons needing a tonic; that 


286 PAYING THE PIPER 

it had been prescribed with her other medi- 
cine. ’ ’ 

^^Hear Montfort,^^ and Dr. Finley read: 
‘‘Barnettes as strong as a horse; so we’ll give 
her a good strong dose. This one powder I 
send is made np of three ordinary ones, to be 
taken in case of protracted insomnia. They 
were left over after father Montfort’s death 
last year. Yon see my habits of economy serve 
me well ; I don’t need to take the risk of buying 
a narcotic.” 

‘'Of all the damned fools!” and Dr. Finley 
laid the letter down. “What a joke it would 
have been if we had let the nurse die, and then 
found this letter. She signs herself ‘Your own 
devoted Molly,’ after speaking of her father- 
in-law by name. ’ ’ 

“She doesn’t seem to have the sense to do 
murder with any kind of intelligence or de- 
cency; it might have been murder,” said Dr. 
Hillis. “A most dangerous woman, though, 
heretofore I’ve thought of her as simply a pre- 
tentious ignoramus with a taste for lewdness. 
She’s the Montfort who was mixed up in that 
scandal last winter with the alleged Russian 
count ? ’ ’ 

“Yes, she’s the only one of her kind;” and 
J ack replaced the letters in their envelopes. 

“With a family of grown children, I’ve 
heard.” 

“Yes, four; youngest quite seventeen, oldest 
over twenty-five.” 

“In cases of young, inexperienced women. 


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287 


I’m inclined to be charitable; but this gray- 
haired creature, — she looks at least fifty-five.” 

‘‘Yes, but she never tells her age — lets con- 
cealment and all the rest of it — she’s quite cer- 
tainly past the time of the follies of youth; 
and, I suppose that accounts for her careless- 
ness; she thinks she’s beyond suspicion.” 

As they were leaving the room Dr. Finley 
said: 

“Don’t call your car, Hillis; mine’s at the 
door. I’ll drop you wherever you want to go — 
home, of course? You’ll go home, too, 
mother ? ’ ’ 

“Yes, I don’t believe I can be of any use 
here. ’ ’ 

“I should say not, after being up and work- 
ing like a street sweeper all night,” and Jack 
laid his arm about his mother’s shoulders, and 
pressed his cheek on her hair. 

“I wonder if Barnett will be fit for duty 
soon?” 

“Oh, yes, I’m sure she will,” Dr. Hillis an- 
swered. “Have you seen her, Carey?” 

“Not for two or three hours — ^wait a 
minute. ’ ’ 

He was upstairs and down again within a 
very short time. “She’s very little the worse 
for her enforced nap. Moderate exercise will 
be good for her, and I’ve told her to go out for 
a walk. By the time Ethel needs attention 
she’ll be able to give it. By the way. Jack, are 
you going to do anything about this nasty busi- 
ness?” 

“I’ve been thinking — those two women need 


288 


PAYING THE PIPER 


M ■ 


a scare, if nothing more. I don want any nn- 
necessary publicity, and I believe we got Ethel 
away last night while the majority of those 
who knew something had happened, supposed 
it to be nothing worse than a faint. Of course 
the truth will be known soon or late, and with 
these letters, Barnett could bring a very nice, 
complete action against Montfort, at least, and 
Preston as an accessory.’’ 

Dr. Hillis drew on his gloves. ‘‘The question 
for Miss Barnett to consider, is, could a profes- 
sional nurse afford to put her reputation in 
jeopardy?” 

“That’s true; and there’s no telling how 
much scandal would he trumped up. We’ll see, 
after thinking it over. In the meantime, the in- , 
mates of this house have their work cut out for 
them for some time.” 


CHAPTER XXX 


When a household situated as was Jack Pin- 
ley ^s wishes to avoid publicity of a disagreeable 
kind, it is well to take into consideration the 
several servants, the children and the neigh- 
bors. There is nothing quite so fascinating to 
the inhabitants of the basement as a mystery. 
If this verges on the tragic, so much the more 
is it talked about and guessed at in every con- 
ceivable phase of might have beens,’’ and 
what really is, in the conclaves that gather in 
the kitchen and basement dining room. 

It happened on the night when Ethel was 
brought home and carried into the house, sev- 
eral other parties living in the same street were 
also arriving. Dr. Finley’s motor car, bring- 
ing his brother, himself and Ethel, was followed 
by his father’s carriage, with his wife and 
mother, and very soon Dr. Hillis came in a cab. 
It was the talk of the neighborhood, and conse- 
quently the house of Jack Finley was the con- 
verging point of a large number of reporters on 
that first day of the year. 

‘‘The trouble is,” Jack said to a dozen or 
more of the fraternity who stood in the hall, “I 
hardly know how to treat you boys in regard to 
this matter. My family affairs are not for the 
public, but, the public would, perhaps, better 
289 


290 


PAYING THE PIPER 


know the truth of it, than to take what yon 
folks may hear from outsiders, and fix up into 
an ‘authentic report^ in your determination to 
have a story. Wait a minute. 

He disappeared from the hall, but presently 
came back with his father and Rogers. He in- 
troduced them. 

“Boys, this is my father, and Mr. Rogers, 
of the firm of Vandoren, Finley and Rogers. 
They think that a plain statement of facts will 
be the best thing, under the circumstances,’^ 
and he gave them, from the day of the auto- 
mobile accident to the reaching home that 
morning. 

Dr. Finley, coming down stairs, reported 
Ethel still in a deep sleep. The reporters, 
seated on hall chairs, stairway, tabourettes, and 
ottomans, were jotting down, in shorthand, the 
story as they heard it. A representative of one 
of the more conservative papers, stopped to 
ask: 

“Mr. Finley, if our paper publishes this 
story — you see there are serious charges — 
against the two women — I suppose you’ll stand 
pat?” 

“Of course he will,” said Rogers; and his 
big voice and big frown made the questioner 
jump. 

Jack laughed. “You’re to tell the story as I 
tell it to you and make an end of it. I ’ll stand 
between these two women and your Old Man 
for any costs that may accrue. I had meant to 
give Montfort and Preston a scare by sending 
a lawyer after them, but, Lord Harry! I 


PAYING THE PIPEE 


291 


hadn’t thought of the city press. The weight 
of the law is crippling ; but the pressure of pub- 
lic opinion is annihilating. These two women 
shall feel it, and if it drives them out of town, 
so much the better for all who have come in 
contact with them. ’ ’ 

The story, as it appeared in the late after- 
noon and evening editions of the dailies, some 
with illustrations, was sensational beyond 
imagining. Several morning papers had ex- 
tras, with flaring headlines, but the evening pa- 
pers were content with their regular editions. 
The next day’s morning papers, of course, had 
but a repetition of the story, and, very few 
extra sales. The cream of the story had been 
taken the day before, and the open-mouthed 
public was watching for a new sensation. 

For Mrs. Montfort, though it was known by 
the publication of her letters that she had sent 
the drug, the consequences were not so serious 
as they were for her confederate. It had long 
been known that Montfort was deeply involved. 
His house was covered by two mortgages, with 
interest so much in arrears that it had quite 
absorbed what little equity he might have 
claimed in case of sale. They need not wait for 
the formality of a foreclosure. Some few of 
their household goods, not under mortgage, and 
their personal belongings, could be packed and 
shipped to a tiny farm up the state that had 
come to them by inheritance, and was so tied 
up that creditors could not touch it. This was 
their refuge. 

To Miss Preston, who at worst had been but 


292 PAYING THE PIPEE 

an accessory, the consequences were more seri- 
ous. This she realized when summoned to 
answer to the Board of Education for her 
share in the plot, and the carrying out thereof, 
of drugging Mrs. Finley’s nurse, and then, lit- 
erally carrying out of her house, a crippled and 
helpless woman, who was carried back an hour 
or two later by her husband and her physicians, 
a hopeless paralytic. 

Miss Preston, with her usual masterful man- 
ner, attempted to denounce the whole story as 
a fabrication by an unprincipled man and his 
offended mother, but it was useless. Besides 
the newspaper account, many letters had been 
sent to the Board, accusing Miss Preston of 
meddling and mischief -making. 

When these were mentioned. Miss Preston 
said, sneeringly: “No doubt some of these let- 
ters are from young Mrs. Finley’s mother-in- 
law. ’ ’ 

“No, they’re not; but,” and the speaker 
hurriedly tossed over a pile of letters on the 
table, “there are two here that speak of some 
persecution of yours, directed against Mrs. Fin- 
ley about a year ago. In view of these accusa- 
tions, from such very reliable sources, I took 
the liberty of calling upon Mrs. Finley. She 
told me she had nothing to say, excepting that 
this calamity that has come upon you is en- 
tirely your own work ; that you had been very 
officious at a time when she had some family 
trouble. She did not add one word in condem- 
nation of your well-known character. That is 
all we have from Mrs. Finley,” 


PAYING THE PIPER 


293 


The conference was short and decisive. Miss 
Preston’s teacher’s license was revoked, not 
because of inefficiency in scholarship, but on 
the more serious ground of a lack of those 
moral qualities so highly necessary in those to 
whom is entrusted the training of impression- 
able youth. 

The blow was crushing. She threatened to 
bring suit against the Board of Education, and 
that worthy body smiled. She stormed newspa- 
per offices, and was blandly referred to the well- 
known firm of Vandoren, Finley and Rogers. 

Not daunted, she made her way to the pri- 
vate offices of the house. When Jack heard her 
name announced, he sprang from his chair. 

‘ ‘ By the Lord, I ’ll throw her out of the win- 
dow. ’ ’ 

‘^For shame, Jacky,” Rogers said, shaking 
his finger; ^^we’re six flights up — you’d hurt 
her.” 

doubt it. She’s made of vulcanite,” he 
laughed — ‘Hrouble is, she’d bounce back 
again.” 

Miss Preston was in the room. Finley senior, 
Rogers and Jack arose to receive her. Philip 
barely turned his head, but made no sign of 
recognition. 

‘‘Miss Preston,” Mr. Finley said, “this is 
quite a surprise. What can we do for you?” 

Her anger was at white heat. It is, perhaps, 
safe to say that this was the first time she had 
ever been braved since she was graduated from 
the teachers’ training school. She tried to 
steady her voice, and succeeded — badly. 


294 


PAYING THE PIPER 


‘‘You can perhaps tell me, Mr. Finley, who 
it was who gave that New Year story concern- 
ing myself, and a certain member of your fam- 
ily, to the press!’’ 

“I believe. Jack,” Mr. Finley said, suavely, 
“that you are responsible for that, though I 
was present at the interview, and so was my 
partner, Mr. Rogers. You remember, Rog- 
ers ! ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Perfectly. ’ ’ 

“I want to know, then, Mr. Jack,” and there 
was a wintry smile on her lips, “why you did 
this. I’m sure Mrs. Montfort and I acted with 
the very best intentions. We’ve always felt the 
deepest atfection for your wife, and, I’m sure, 
too, that we’re not in the least to blame for this 
affliction that has come upon her. I’ve been told 
that it was feared at the hospital, before she 
came away.” 

“Suppose I believe all you say about your 
atfection and your good intentions. I confess 
I’d like to. I feel my faith in human nature 
slipping away from me, when I put the con- 
struction on your behavior that seems plain.” 

“Pray, what is that?” 

“It’s that you and Mrs. Montfort are both 
insane, or, you’re the most deadly malicious 
women it is possible to imagine.” 

She tossed her head, and pretended to laugh. 

“That’s far fetched.” 

“You prove either one or the other by every 
word you utter. You won’t deny that you and 
Mrs. Montfort had been forbidden the house. 
You know that you came in in spite of this or- 


PAYING THE PIPER 


295 


der. You know that the nurse was drugged. 
Would you not better give up your position 
without a row, and leave town, than defend 
yourself in a criminal action? If I, or some 
one of my family, had not given the plain, 
straight truth to the press there ^d have been all 
sorts of garbled stories going about, and the 
end of it would have been the same to you. A 
suit, such as I can bring against you, would de- 
prive you of your position, and the disgrace 
would be much greater. Not but that you de- 
serve prosecution and more. The law holds no 
adequate penalty for some actions. But, soon 
or late, you hi get all that/s coming to you. 
You’re big and strong. You’ll live to be very 
old, if you don’t provoke somebody into killing 
you. I confess that’s what I’d have liked to do. 
Now, all I have to say is, if you think you can 
do anything further, go ahead and do it; get 
busy; though I tell you now, you’d better get 
out of town as soon as you can, and make no 
fuss about it.” 

The woman was shaking with anger. She 
was beaten at every point, and yet, she had the 
judgment left to know that Jack’s advice was 
good. 

She did not know that he had been compelled 
to take some legal steps in order to keep within 
the requirements of the law. She did not know 
that in order to clear himself of the imputation 
of being an accessory to the crime of drugging 
the nurse he had given his deposition in the 
office of John Trent, and now stood ready as 
prosecutor, if it was found advisable to bring 


296 


PAYING THE PIPER 


suit against Mrs. Montfort and Miss Preston. 

It had been told the two by Mr. Montfort that 
Jack would not dare to bring suit against them. 
He would incriminate himself, since he had 
urged Miss Barnett to drink the drugged wine. 
Miss Preston’s interview with him, in the pres- 
ence of three others of the house, had dis- 
credited this theory. To find that he had 
openly given the story to the press, that his 
father and Rogers were witnesses, proved that 
the firm would support the press if she should 
make a test case by bringing suit against any 
one of the dailies. Such an outcome would en- 
tirely justify the Board of Education in their 
action against her. 

When she reached the street it seemed as if 
the city had put on a new and strange aspect. 
She viewed it as might the sojourner for a day. 
She no longer had a footing. Her ample salary 
was cut oif. Incidentals, such as lectures, pres- 
idency of a club or two, were all swept away. 
She felt that her ruin could not be more com- 
plete. Her reputation as an educator could be 
of no further use to her. Her story would fol- 
low her — in fact, it was already preceding her. 
Was it not published in a dozen or more New 
York dailies? And would a sensational story 
like that be passed over by newspapers of other 
cities ? She could not hope it. She had gone 
to her bed in the early morning of the new 
year, to get up a few hours later to find herself 
■ — infamous. 


CHAPTER XXXI 

Genevieve’s invitations for her family dinner 
party, in honor of Dr. Graeme, were dated for 
the third of J annary. On the night of the ball, 
she, as well as hundreds of others, had not seen 
Ethel ; had not known she was there until after 
she was carried from the room, and Philip 
told her, adding: ‘‘We’d better go, I think. 
All the Finleys have gone, so have mother and 
Katherine; the Rogers’, too.” Very briefly 
he told all he knew to those who inquired, and 
next day, there was the whole story in l)lack 
and white in a dozen newspapers. 

Genevieve wondered if she would better re- 
call her invitations. “No,” Philip said, “ex- 
cepting there is a change, and the doctors think 
there may not be any difference in Ethel’s con- 
dition for some time.” 

The next day Genevieve said to her mother : 

“What a pity Ethel hadn’t taken the opium 
herself.” 

“Yes, it might have saved her from this 
shocking state. They say her face is a sight; 
and to think that two of my most prominent 
members in the ‘Aid for the Friendless’ Club 
should be implicated in such an affair. It 
nearly breaks my heart; but, still, they were 
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298 


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acting on right principles. They felt that 
Ethel was neglected, and well-nigh friendless 
in her husband ^s family, and they only meant 
to be kind and helpful.’’ 

^‘Do you think that just plain opium will 
kill? Does one just sleep and sleep until they 
die?” 

‘^Yes, any strong narcotic will do the same 
thing. You know dentists and surgeons have 
been known to have their patients die before 
their eyes.” 

‘‘Yes, I know,” and Genevieve gazed absent- 
ly out over the Drive, without seeing the 
throngs that were going up and down. After 
some time she said: “I suppose they didn’t 
want to give the nurse cyanide?” 

“I should think not. You must be crazy. 
Cyanide’s instant death.” 

“Oh yes, I forgot; they didn’t want to kill 
her. ’ ’ 

“No, but the doctors say she was far gone. 
She had taken enough to kill her. ’ ’ 

“And there’s no pain?” 

“No, it’s just a deep sleep.” 

“I wonder how long she had been asleep.” 

“Jack says it was about nine when he left 
the house, and the nurse says she drank the 
wine very soon after that — before ten. It was 
close to one, either one way or the other when 
they got home with Ethel, and then Barnett 
was very far gone. ’ ’ 

“An hour or two longer and probably they 
couldn’t have saved her.” 

“I guess not; but, really, just a common 


PAYING THE PIPEE 


299 


woman like a nurse wouldn’t have been the loss 
to the world that two such women as Mrs. 
Montfort and Miss Preston are. Somehow I 
can’t believe it.” 

‘ ‘ It seems J ack must be quite positive, or he 
wouldn’t have given the story to the reporters. 
He’d be in serious difficulty if the women 
should bring suit against him.” 

‘‘They won’t do that. You know his father 
and Eogers were present, and Carey came in 
and corroborated everything. No, they won’t 
dare to bring suit, your father says ; and, more 
than that. Jack may be compelled by law to 
prosecute them.” 

“Well, I’ll go on with the dinner,” after a 
pause: “Phil sent away a big trunk this morn- 
ing. Kara said he was told to pack it, and get 
an expressman to take it away.” 

“Did he send it to his mother’s?” 

“I don’t know,” and Genevieve burst into 
stormy weeping ; “ I do wish I was dead ! ’ ’ 

Mrs. Seldon started up in alarm: “Why, 
Genevieve! You’ve been so well, lately, and 
so cheerful. What do you mean? Why 
shouldn’t Philip send away a trunk if he wants 
to? Perhaps he has papers and accounts 
from San Francisco that they want in the busi- 
ness.” 

“No, there’s nothing of that kind. He’s go- 
ing to divorce me, and it’s in order for him to 
leave the house. I know that’s what it means. ’ ’ 

“Genevieve, I do believe you’re crazy.” 

“You’ll see how crazy I am,” and she dried 


300 


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her eyes. ‘‘Two can play at this game, and 
he’ll find that a divorce is not necessary.” 

“I do wish you two could come to an under- 
standing. I can’t, for my life, see what rea- 
sons either one of you have for all this storm- 
ing and sulking. We’re all a bit disappointed 
in Annetje, but that’s no killing matter. Many 
people have children who are not as handsome 
and smart as might be wished. I think Philip’s 
downright unreasonable, and you’re silly. 
Why don’t you brace yourself and stand for 
your rights? This is no way to do — sit and 
whimper like a whipped child. Now get your- 
self ready and we’ll go and see Mrs. Montfort. 
I’m not the woman to desert a friend. She 
ought to stay right here in town, and brave 
the whole family of Finleys. She ought to go 
out amongst her friends, and so ought Miss 
Preston. They’d soon live down the whole 
story.” 

Genevieve turned from the mirror where she 
was pinning on her hat. Very sharply she 
spoke : 

“Mother, it isn’t to be supposed that you 
e^ver did anything downright wrong, in all your 
life. I mean really wrong — disgraceful, for 
which people might despise you and refuse to 
know you; now, did you?” 

Mrs. Seldon’s eyes were round with aston- 
ishment. 

“Why no, of course not. I’ve done wrong, 
as everybody has; but, as you say, nothing dis- 
graceful, for wliich I might— be despised and 
given the cut direct.” 


PAYING THE PIPER 


301 


^^Then you have no idea how a woman feels 
who has, and who knows she has no right to 
hold up her head amongst decent people.’’ 

“Well dear me, Genevieve, what do you know 
about such things?” and her voice was almost 
angry. 

“I know that Phil’s going to bring suit for 
divorce, and that it’ll be in the newspapers, and 
I’ll be in the class with Montfort and Preston, 
only a thousand times worse. Talk about liv- 
ing things down ! ’ ’ 

She hurried out of the room, down to the 
street and into the waiting automobile. 

As soon as they were where they were likely 
to meet acquaintances Genevieve was cheerful, 
really extravagantly so. She laughed at every- 
thing, and talked incessantly, sometimes, her 
mother thought a bit incoherently; and Mrs. 
Seldon was puzzled and worried. She wished 
she could take her daughter and go away to 
some quiet place in the country and take care 
of her; keep her away from all excitement for 
a few weeks. She believed it was what she 
needed. This going about night and day was 
unnatural. She knew that in spite of Gen- 
evieve’s vivacity at parties, receptions and 
dinners she did not enjoy them. At the bazaar 
she was gay, most successful with her booth, 
and at the ball she danced continually, but she 
went home early from there, and had long 
hours of rest. True there were a few callers 
on New Year’s Day, and several people were 
to dinner; but that was the usual order. Now, 
early in the morning of the second day she was 


302 


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low spirited, and filled with what, her mother 
was convinced from all she could see, and from 
her own experience was nothing more than a 
morbid fancy. However, she would wait until 
Genevieve’s dinner was over, to-morrow, and 
then she would see if she would not like to go 
away for a while to Lakewood, or to Atlantic 
City. She would insist on a change. They 
called on Mrs. Montfort, and the lady met them 
with tears and protestations of her unwavering 
affection for Jack and Ethel Finley. How 
dreadful it was to be so misunderstood. She 
had followed the promptings of her sympa- 
thetic heart — oh, yes, she knew sometimes, 
often in fact, she was too sympathetic, — to do 
a deed of love for a friend and then to be so 
misjudged, so persecuted. 

She was already packing. She would bury 
herself and her aspirations for her children in 
her native village, far up the state. There, 
amongst her old friends, and close to the 
graves of her parents, she would hide from 
her enemies and her false friends. 

Mrs. Seldon was quite touched, but as soon 
as they were out of the house, Genevieve 
shocked her by saying, ‘^That woman is the 
nearest idiocy of anything I ever saw out of an 
asylum for the feeble minded.” 


CHAPTER XXXII 


It was the morning of the third. Genevieve 
sat at the breakfast table white and listless. 
She ate nothing, merely sipped her coffee. As 
Philip was about to leave the room he spoke 
to Kara: 

‘‘Go down to the Princeton Club on Thirty- 
Fourth Street, and get two or three bottles of 
Scotch whisky, of the brand we always kept 
for Dr. Graeme, and leave it in my rooms. 
Don^t neglect it. Dr. Graeme and I will be 
here about five. Be sure to have everything in 
order. ’ ’ 

Genevieve spoke, “You know the dinner hour 
is seven 

“I know, but Aleck and I will be here early. 

“Very well,^’ and she turned to Kara: 
“You’ll not forget?” 

“I hope Madam knows that I do not forget.” 

She left the room and wandered aimlessly 
about the parlors ; then went upstairs. Going 
to the telephone, she ordered flowers for the 
table, and mantels, and then, a sudden ghastly 
fancy seizing her she added, “Send nine cor- 
sage bouquets, and nine boutonieres of lilies of 
the valley and tube roses,” adding aside, 
“May as well have something in the house 
303 


304 


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that’s appropriate while I’m able to order it.” 
The florist repeated the order, and asked if he 
had understood correctly. 

‘^Yes, yes,” she answered, ‘‘you have it 
right, just a small joke.” 

Then she hurried Kara away to bring the 
Scotch. 

“You know you have many things to do to- 
day, and Mr. Vandoren will be displeased, if 
you fail in any particular to have exactly what 
he wants for Dr. Graeme.” 

Thus urged, Kara went out at once, and was 
soon home again, bringing the desired brand. 

Genevieve watched him as he drew the cork, 
and placed the open bottle with two others in 
the mahogany cellarette. 

“You’ll not need to come in here again to- 
day. The rooms are all in order. I’ll do this 
while I’m here,” and she placed a satiny, 
cream colored napkin over a small table that 
stood in a corner near the cellarette, drew a 
tray of burnished copper from the table 
drawer, and on a doyley of lace she placed two 
elaborately cut glasses. The Japanese watched 
her appreciatively, bowed and left the room. 
Genevieve then visited Annetje in the nursery. 
She held the child on her lap, her arms folded 
closely about her. Leaning her face down till 
her cheek rested on Annetje ’s scanty dark hair, 
an uncontrollable sob burst from her. 

The little girl put up her bony hands to her 
mother’s face: “Mama sick? Mista Van cross 
to Mama?” 

“No, darling. Mama isn’t sick, and Mr. Van 


PAYING THE PIPEE 305 

was not cross. Mr. Van will never be cross to 
me any more.^^ 

‘‘Ob, good Mista Van.^^ 

“Yes, dear, I hope he’s good; he needs to 
be.” 

“Will Madam keep Miss Annetje with her 
this morning?” 

Genevieve looked up quickly; she had for- 
gotten the maid. 

“No, Onoto ; I’m going to be very busy in my 
own rooms all morning — all day, in fact. 
There’ll be nothing for you to do to-day but 
your usual work. Take Annetje out, by and 
by. I forgot to tell Kara that he’s to let no one 
in to-day. Eemember to see him, and tell him 
as you go out.” 

“Not even Madam’s mother?” 

“My mother will come this evening with the 
other guests. Mind now, tell Kara I’ll see no 
one, and Katsu, I’ve told her, but you see her; 
she’s busy now, and remind her that she’s not 
to come to dress me until I ring.” 

“Yes, Madam. Come, Miss Annetje, have 
your hood on.” 

“No, go with Mama.” 

Genevieve again clasped the child, kissing 
the little dark head, the hands, and cheeks. 
“Mama’s dear little girl! Please go with 
’No to. Here’s money to buy pretties when you 
go out. Mama has headache.” 

“Poor Mama,” and the little thing passed 
her hands over her mother’s hair: “Poor 
Mama, take medicine and go to bed.” 

“Yes, that’s what Mama’s going to do.” 


306 PAYING THE PIPER 

With another lingering caress she put the 
child down and hastily left the room. 

Onoto prepared herself and the little girl for 
the street, and as they came along the hall she 
saw Genevieve come out of Philip’s rooms, 
stepping softly and hurriedly into her own 
door, without seeing either nurse or child. She 
only thought, ‘‘Madam’s in haste, and doesn’t 
want to bother with Annetje again.” She 
heard the key turned, and, as she went through 
the lower hall, she charged Kara, and Katsu 
that Mrs. Vandoren was not on any account to 
be disturbed by callers, no matter who came, 
and when she was ready to be dressed she 
would ring. 

“But Madam’s luncheon?” Kara asked. 

“She will let us know,” Katsu answered 
easily. 

The servants were not surprised. They had 
all been in the house for several years, and so 
systematic was Genevieve’s housekeeping, so 
well defined were the duties of each, there was 
never the least confusion. The giving of a din- 
ner for a dozen or more was a small affair. So 
to-day the final preparations went forward, and 
in the rooms of the mistress not a sound was 
heard. It was well known in the house, that 
Genevieve was not well. It was charged to her 
great amount of social going about, with late 
hours and the accompanying late dinners. 
This was the first time in many weeks that she 
had said she must be denied to callers, and the 
servants decided amongst themselves that she 
wanted to be exceptionally bright and comfort- 


PAYING THE PIPER 


307 


able at tbis dinner for the friend from San 
Francisco. Hence the day alone in her own 
rooms. 

At five o’clock, the four natives of the Flow- 
ery Kingdom stood admiring the table in the 
dining room. It was beautiful as linen, lace, 
glass, silver and flowers could make it. But 
the tube roses! 

“Ah!” said Kara; “it’s a mistake, these 
flowers of wax and strong perfume are for the 
dead.” 

He called up the florist when he opened the 
box, but was told that the flowers had been 
ordered, adding: “Mrs. Vandoren said it was 
for a joke.” 

Kara raised his hands and his eyebrows: “I 
don’t like that sort of joke,” and his fellow 
servants agreed with him. So the flowers were 
put on the table. 

Soon after this they heard Philip and Dr. 
Graeme going up stairs, talking busily. They 
had not been in the house more than ten min- 
utes when the bell from Philip’s rooms rang 
peremptorily. 

The two had gone into the study of Philip’s 
suite, and, as usual, looked about for the 
Scotch. They found the small table, so daintily 
set out with the bottle on the tray with the 
glasses. But, one thing was not as usual. 

“This is queer, not like Kara,” and Philip 
took a card from the top of each glass. “He 
always turns them down if he’s afraid of an 
atom of dust.” 


308 


PAYING THE PIPEE 


‘‘Perhaps he suspected we’d take it for a 
hint that we were not to drink.” 

Philip took up the bottle, looked at the label, 
and had it over one of the glasses when, sud- 
denly Graeme caught his hand. 

“Wait a minute; what’s this?” and he 
turned the glass down in his hand. There was 
a grayish white substance, not crystals, and not 
quite powder, more like a salt. Hastily, he 
turned the other glass, and found about the 
same amount of the same substance. Philip, 
bottle in hand, watched, and Graeme, wetting 
his finger in a glass of water, rubbed a pinch 
of the salt, and, as he smelled it, whispered 

cyanide/^ 

‘ ‘ By God ! ’ ’ and Philip stood staring. 

Graeme laughed : ‘ ‘ Close call, my friend. ’ ’ 

Philip pressed the electric button, and before 
the echo of the sharp peal had died away, Kara 
stood in the door. Graeme had hastily put 
both glasses back on the tray, with the white 
cards over them. 

“Kara, why did you set the tray this way, 
instead of turning down the glasses as you 
usually do when you know they must wait for 
an hour or two?” 

The servant looked wonderingly at Philip, 
then at the tray: “I didn’t set the tray. 
Madam did it. I was here and saw her, just 
after I had brought the Scotch ; but she turned 
the glasses down.” 

“Do you know who’s been in here since 
then?” 

“I know of no one. Katsu or Onoto may 


PAYING THE PIPER 


309 


have been. I know that Ito has not been above 
the dining room to-day. He rarely leaves the 
kitchen. To-day he went to see the table, when 
I asked him.’^ 

‘‘Call the two girls. Perhaps Katsn is busy 
with Mrs. Vandoren, but tell her to come.” 

Onoto came in with Annetje clinging to her 
hand, and was followed closely by Katsu. 

“Have either one of you girls been in here 
since this morning, when Mrs. Vandoren and 
Katsu arranged this tray?” 

“No, Mr. Van,” Katsu answered. “I’ve not 
seen the inside of this room but a few times 
since we came here, and not at all to-day until 
now. ’ ’ 

“You, Onoto?” nodding to the girl. 

“No, Mr. Van, I was not in. I’m never in 
here. I happened to see Kara and Madam go 
in, when Kara had a parcel. I had been in the 
hall to speak to Katsu. Then I saw Madam 
come out from here and go into her own room, 
as I was going out with Miss Annetje. I sup- 
pose she had finished arranging the tray; but 
I didn’t see Kara come out.” 

“Onoto,” Kara said: “You didn’t go out 
with Miss Annetje for nearly an hour after I 
brought the Scotch and Madam and I were here 
together. She went from here to the nursery.” 

“Very well,” said Dr. Graeme. “It really 
doesn’t matter. I found here, no matter where, 
this cyanide of potassium,” and he showed it 
in his open hand. ‘ ‘ Do either of you know any- 
thing about it? Have you had any use for it — 
a deadly poison?” 


310 


PAYING THE PIPER 


Katsu spoke quickly. ^‘Several days ago I 
cleaned Madam’s diamonds with a solution of 
cyanide. I had a note from Madam to the 
druggist, just over on Broadway, stating what 
the drug was to be used for, signed by Madam, 
and Dr. Gaines, who lives a few doors this way 
from West End Avenue.” 

‘ ‘ Did you use all that you brought home 1 ’ 
don’t know. Madam made the solution.” 

‘^Did she say anything about it! about the 
nature of it!” 

‘‘She said it was a poison and I must be 
very careful and not let Miss Annetje put her 
hands in the bowl, as she was so likely to put 
her fingers in her mouth.” 

“All right, Katsu. Onoto, take that child 
away, and Kara, I feel uncertain about this 
bottle. You got more than one! I’ll try some 
of this on Madam’s Angora cat. The bushy 
villain will eat and drink anything that white 
folks do.” 

As the servants left the room the two men 
faced each other. Philip, with set teeth swore 
a great oath. Graeme, with half shut eyes, 

asked: “You don’t really believe!” and 

stopped, drawing in his breath. 

“What else can I believe! No doubt there 
will be some surprise when we show up at din- 
ner, none the worse for the little treat prepared 
for us!” 

Graeme put the cyanide into one of the 
glasses, and finding a plain small linen napkin 
in the cellarette, he tied it over the glass, and 


PAYING THE PIPER 311 

thus secured, he put it, as Philip directed, in a 
drawer of a desk near by. 

‘‘Well,’’ said Graeme, “I’d have hesitated a 
long time before I’d have said she was capable 
of a thing like this. Of course her condition 
has much to do with her moods, but, to delib- 
erately plan a sort of wholesale taking off ! and 
it must have been planned.” 

“Yes it’s simply monstrous; but, this 
damned nonsense of family pride, when there’s 
nothing to be proud of; — and what does she 
suppose I’ve been about all these years? Even 
the sending of us down the lonely road to- 
gether wouldn’t destroy the evidence against 
her. There’s the record of our marriage here, 
and that of Annetje’s birth in San Francisco 
as well as my will that old Trent has had for 
over five years, besides the talk we three had 
the other day when I gave him my reasons for 
making application for divorce. ’ ’ 

“Yes. You see, in every criminal action, 
whether it succeeds or fails, outsiders can al- 
ways see where there are loop-holes — buttons 
off, as the boys say.” Graeme’s hand was 
resting on the tray, and in changing his posi- 
tion in his chair, the tray was pushed aside. 

“Hello, here’s a note, addressed to you. 
Perhaps it will explain. We might have seen 
this at first if we had not been so intent on our 
tipple. ’ ’ 

Philip drew from the unsealed envelope one 
of Genevieve’s correspondence cards and read 
aloud : 

“Messrs. Vandoren and Graeme; 


312 


PAYING THE PIPER 


‘‘Drink your Scotch and be merry while I 
fare on my way alone; but, perhaps I’ll not be 
alone. You may possibly be ahead of me; bon 
voyage. Hope you’ll not be very angry when 
we meet.” 

There was no signature. Without lifting his 
eyes, Philip said: ‘H guess the evidence is all 
in. I must hurry to put myself in proper trim 
to celebrate out escape; to meet my lady fair. 

To think a woman would be so ” he broke 

otf, laughing, then rattled on: 

“Oh many a cup of this unpoisoned Scotch 

Must drown the memory of that stupid botch, 
with apologies to Omar. Let’s have another;” 
and he filled the glasses. 

“But, I say, Phil, what does she mean by 
faring on alone I” 

“I guess she means that by her sweetening 
of our cups she’d be going it alone as an in- 
teresting widow. She says, too, that perhaps 
she’ll not be alone. That’s what I’ve told her. 
She can marry the other man, and now, I shall 
hurry up the matter for all I’m worth. By to- 
morrow this time. I’ll be settled down town. 
I’ve given her several days of grace because 
there were so many things that the whole fam- 
ily was interested in. I must hustle, I hear 
voices ; but, of course, the lovely hostess is be- 
low dispensing smiles and wondering and apol- 
gizing for my tardiness. I wonder now — I 
wish I could see into her mind just for a min- 
ute. How does it seem to put up a nasty job 
like thisP’ 

Graeme swore softly: “What I’m wonder- 


PAYING THE PIPER 


313 


ing is: hpw big is tbe job? Better invite her 
to sample each dish first, or ring in one of your 
Japs for taster 

‘‘No, I think she had no idea of going into 
it so largely. You know the Seldons are to be 
here. ’ ’ 

“I donT see why the cyanide was not put 
into the bottle. That would have been the sure 
thing. ’ ’ 

“DonT know. Perhaps she was shy of the 
stutf, and afraid the whole bottle wouldnT be 
strong enough. She knew, too, that we were 
coming up early, and she may have thought 
that Carey, or her brother or father would 
happen in — or we might be late, and the bottle 
would be passed around. There are several 
reasons why it was safer to put the dope into 
the glasses.’^ 

‘ ‘ Still there were chances of a miscarriage. ’ ^ 

“Damn lucky for us that there were, and 
that we got in on one of the chances.’’ 

They started down stairs, both immaculately 
clothed, faultlessly groomed, suave, polished, 
men of the world from head to foot. Dr. 
Graeme stopped on a landing half way down 
and faced his host. 

“Phil, first and last, I must say you’ve the 
coolest head, the steadiest nerve of any man 
I’ve ever known.” 

“The wind is tempered to the Jamb’s spring 
suit. Haven’t I had use for all the head and 
all the nerve I’ve got.” 

“Yes, by the Lord above us, you have!” 


CHAPTER XXXIII 


The two entered the parlor to find the guests 
assembled, but where was the hostess? It 
seemed the Seldons had but just come in from 
the cloak room on the same floor. Mrs. Seldon 
spoke to Philip: 

‘ ‘ This must be your wild west way of receiv- 
ing friends, nobody in sight but the servants. 
Where’s Genevieve? It’s quite unprecedented 
for her to be late in her own house. Isn’t she 
well ? ’ ’ 

‘^Well as usual this morning — haven’t seen 
her since. I thought, of course, she was here. 
Alex and I have been in the house, for nearly 
two hours, but have seen no one but two or 
three of the servants. We’d better send up 
and inquire.” 

Katsu appeared in answer to the bell. 

‘H’ll go up, too,” and Mrs. Seldon started to- 
ward the stairs. Katsu hesitated: “Madam 
said she was not to be disturbed. I was to 
wait until she rang.” 

“But, Katsu, it’s very late. She may have 
been taken ill. Go up with Mrs. Seldon, and 
see if there’s any trouble. She surely couldn’t 
have gone to sleep.” 


314 


PAYING THE PIPER 


315 


They were gone but a few minutes when 
Katsu came hurrying in with frightened eyes: 

‘‘Mr. Vandoren, Madam ^s doors are locked 
and we can get no answer to ringing or knock- 
ing or calling.’’ 

“What!” and Philip started from his chair. 

“No doubt she’s fainted,” Carey Finley 
said, and Alex nodded assent. “You must 
force the door, Phil.” 

“Yes, Katsu, go to Kara and tell him to 
bring those pliers he used on his own door the 
other day; — hurry.” 

Mrs. Vandoren, Philip and the two doctors 
ascended the stairs. Kara opened the door 
easily, since fortunately the key had not been 
removed. Philip turned on a strong light. 
Genevieve lay on her bed, apparently asleep. 
She was in an elaborate negligee gown, one 
hand was under her head, the other held, care- 
lessly, a late magazine. Mrs. Seldon went 
quickly to the bed: 

“Daughter,” she said, placing her hands on 
Genevieve’s shoulders: — “Oh, how cold she is 
and in this warm room: ” 

Mrs. Vandoren took the magazine from the 
icy hand, and started back. “Alex, Carey, 
come here, — Come away, Mrs. Seldon; Gen- 
evieve must be very ill. Open a window, 

Philip Come, Mrs. Seldon, let the doctors 

see what’s the matter, we can do nothing.” 

She turned from the bed to meet the eyes of 
the two physicians. She shook her head and 
tried to lead Mrs. Seldon into the adjoining 


316 


PAYING THE PIPER 


room; but she was in a state of the wildest ex- 
citement; ‘‘What is it? what^s the matter?’’ 

She repeated over and over. “What’s hap- 
pened to my poor girl?” 

The rest of the company had come up stairs. 
All were alarmed, and all tried to soothe Mrs. 
Seldon. Though all knew that something was 
wrong, they felt that there could not be any- 
thing really serious the matter with Genevieve. 
They had seen her nearly every day for a week 
or more, and she had been so gay and so full 
of life. Mrs. Vandoren said not a word. She 
was not deceived. There is nothing in the 
world quite like the touch of a hand where the 
rigor of death has frozen the blood. How it 
happened she gave no guess. Perhaps the two 
young doctors might discover how and why, 
but, most surely, her son’s wife was dead. The 
two had but to touch the body to know. 

Philip stood by, Barbara on one side. Flora 
Latham on the other. Very tenderly Carey 
and Alex removed the pillow from under the 
head and shoulders. The body had already 
partially stiffened. 

“Several hours,” Carey said. 

“Yes; and look at that,” Alex answered. 

As they straightened the body a rolled up 
towel fell from under the chin. 

“Who but a woman would have thought of 
saving her friends the ghastly spectacle of a 
fallen jaw!” and Alex glanced at Philip. His 
face was white, but he was as calm as the dead. 

As they were adjusting the head and shoul- 
ders flat on the bed, Carey’s hand came in con- 


PAYING THE PIPER 317 

tact with an envelope that had lain unseen on 
the white quilt. It was directed to Mrs. Sel- 
don. He handed it to Barbara. 

‘‘Better not give it to your mother just 
now,’^ counseled Philip, but it was too late. 
Mrs. Seldon had broken away from her hus- 
band and son, and she had seen and heard; 
and understood. 

“Yes, I will have it. Give it to me. Idl 
know at once what she wished me to know. 
Can’t you revive her, Carey?” 

Dr. Finley shook his head. “Mrs. Seldon, 
your letter may possibly explain — : Genevieve 
has been past our help for several hours.” 

She threw herself on her knees beside the 
bed, clasping her daughter’s hands, weeping 
and raving. Mr. Seldon and Jansen forcibly 
carried her away. In the next room she broke 
away from them, and turning to Philip she 
screamed: “You have done this! You have 
abused and persecuted my poor girl until at 
last you’ve killed her, or made those heathen- 
ish Japanese do it. I ought to have taken her 
home long ago.” 

Philip made no answer. He stood gazing at 
tSo raving woman, white and still as his dead 
wife. 

Flora Latham seeing the four servants 
standing open-mouthed in the hall, spoke to 
Mrs. Seldon. 

“Do please calm yourself, and read your let- 
ter. Probably that will explain. I’ve no doubt 
it was an accident. Maybe she took a rest 


318 


PAYING THE PIPER 


powder, and it was too strong. DonT make ac- 
cusations until you know.^’ 

Still making incoherent protestations Mrs. 
Seldon opened her letter and read aloud, her 
husband leaning over her shoulder. 

‘‘Dear Mother: 

“If you made any mistakes in my bringing 
up, if you left me too much to myself, I for- 
give you. It was fate. Barbara is not going 
to make the mistakes that IVe made, and that 
too is fate. You are allowing her as much lib- 
erty as I ever had, and yet , Oh, by the 

way, your ‘Rescue the perishing^ club is 
the greatest joke! I’ve laughed at it more 
than I ever did at anything else in my life. Such 
very high class women you have in it, — myself 
amongst them. You see it’s too late to rescue 
me. I must either face a suit for divorce — on 
statutory grounds, second offence too, first 
never condoned — what do you think of that? 
highly respectable Seldon though I am? — or 
do what I’m doing to-day. But, I’m not going 
down the lonely road all by myself. Instead 
of a divorce for Phil, he and Alex will sip 
their Scotch, and join me; perhaps, be ahead of 
me. Of course, my door will be broken open 
when I am not down to receive my distin- 
guished guests. I hope you’ll not come too 
early, so that you’ll take the trouble to use a 
stomach pump — Ugh! It makes me sick to 
think of it. 

“Better go into Philip’s rooms and see if he 
and Dr. Graeme have made their exit in as good 


PAYING THE PIPER 


319 


form as I am going. The trouble will be, they 
wonT expect anything of the kind, and may be 
sprawled all over the place. 

‘ ‘ What an exciting time there will be ! I quite 
envy you. The sensation will last for days. 
Double funeral and all. You’ll take care of 
Annetje. I know you won’t mind who her 
father is. I think there’s nothing more to say. 
I’m so tired of keeping up this farce of jollity. 
Thank goodness. I’ll never have to put on my 
make-up of powder and stutf again, nor my 

pretence of being the fortunate and happy 

Genevieve Seldon Vandoren.” 

Mrs. Seldon ’s voice had grown louder and 
shriller until the last words of the letter were 
uttered in a scream. Her wondering audience 
glanced about from one face to another, fear- 
ing, they knew not what. Had Genevieve gone 
insane? What did she mean by many things 
she had said? Would Philip and Alex drop 
dead before their eyes ? 

Mrs. Vandoren crossed the room, and clasped 
her shaking hands about her son’s arm. ‘‘Dear, 
what is the meaning of this? Why should we 
look for you and Alex? Tell me!” 

‘ ‘ Mother, you don ’t know what you ask. Be- 
lieve me, it will be best for us all if that letter 
is destroyed, or passed over in silence.” 

“That’s all very well for you, Philip Van- 
doren,” said Mr. Seldon, “but it won’t do for 
me, nor it won’t do for my girl’s mother. 
Youdl explain what this means by divorce on 
statutory grounds;” and seizing the letter 


320 


PAYING THE PIPER 


from the hand of his wfe, he held it up, and 
tapped it with his fingers in a threatening 
manner. 

Philip returned his gaze unflinchingly : ‘ ‘ Mr. 
Seldon, if you insist, I’ll answer that the words 
mean exactly what they say; and now, for the 
sake of your own peace of mind, and for the 
credit of your family, be considerate enough to 
drop the matter. Ask no more questions.” 

‘‘Drop the matter! ask no more questions? 
Be silent under this great wrong suffered at 
your hands by my poor girl? Never! I’ll 
make you answer for this to the utmost pf my 
power as a man and a lawyer. I’ll investigate 
your life from the day you carried my daugh- 
ter away to California up to this very hour. 
You’ve driven her insane. There’s nothing in 
these accusations she makes against herself.” 

“Very well, Mr. Seldon. Since you choose 
to investigate. I’ll help you that you may lose 
no time. Your first step will be to go to John 
Trent. He has documentary evidence, now 
more than five years old, that I sent him about 
six weeks after my marriage. You can send to 
San Francisco and get the official registration 
of the birth of your grand-daughter. For she 
is your relation, though she’s none of 
mine ” 

“Now, by the Lord, you’ll pay dearly for 
this,” and Mr. Seldon started across the room. 
“You shall not vilify the dead.” 

Philip stood calmly where he was, his mother 
still clinging to his arm. She put up her hand 


PAYING THE PIPER 321 

as if to protect him, but Jansen caught his 
father with both hands: 

‘‘Father, youVe insisted on this. Now, 
if you’ve anything more to say leave it till 
some more suitable time.” 

“With all my heart. I’m more than willing 
to never say another word about it.” 

“Of course you’re willing. Of course you 
are. J ansen, let me alone. If you have no re- 
gard for the fair fame of your sister I have 
for my dear daughter. You, if you were a 
man at all worthy the name, would kill that 
villain where he stands.” Turning to Philip, 
“How do you come to be so wise? How do 
you know that Annetje is not your child?” 

“By the most indisputable evidence in the 
world. She was born five months after your 
daughter and I were married. You know, hun- 
dreds of people know, that I was not here until 
two weeks preceding our wedding day. I made 
the discovery of her condition soon after our 
arrival in San Francisco, through her efforts 
to undo the mischief. As soon as I knew, then 
she was no longer wife of mine. We lived in 
the same house, and I kept silence for the sake 
of her family and mine; and I want you to re- 
member, and I call these, our mutual friends, 
to bear witness that you force me to speak.” 

The old man stood as if turned to stone ; and 
it seemed to those who watched him that he 
was aging and withering before their eyes. He 
turned weakly toward his wife, who had arisen 
and stood beside him. He handed her the let- 
ter. Then turning again to Philip ; 


322 


' PAYING THE PIPER 


“You say — she has never been wife to you 
in all these years. How then do you account 
for her present state? Wasn’t she expecting a 
second child?” 

“Yes, she was. That was more than I could 
overlook by silence. I told her on our arrival 
here, in August, or rather just after we were 
settled in this house, that if she renewed her 
intimacy with this lover, what the consequence 
would be. She did renew the connection, and, 
I ask you, as man to man, if I am not justi- 
fied?” 

“God Almighty!” the old man breathed. It 
was not an imprecation, it was a prayer. He 
passed his hand over his eyes, cleared his 
throat, staggered a step forward, steadied him- 
self, and asked in a hoarse whisper: 

“Who is the man?” 

“I don’t know.” 

“You never even made her confess? Never 
made her tell who is the father of the child?” 

“No, why should I bother about it? The 
mischief was done. I lived through it, and 
I’ve made good in every way that a self-re- 
specting man can be expected to.” 

Dr. Graeme laid his hand on Mr. Seldon’s 
arm. 

“My dear man, I know all about this de- 
plorable business. Phil says he lived through 
it. Yes, he did, without going to the devil ; and 
I hope I may never see another friend of mine 
live through such a trial. Now, better take 
your wife and go home. Phil has taken such 
care of your daughter, living as not one man 


PAYING THE PIPER 323 

in a million would. You can surely trust him 
to do all that’s necessary for her now.” 

‘‘Tell me — what — what can be said. How 
will your certificate read!” 

“Over dose of sleeping powder,” Dr. Finley 
answered. “Here’s something I picked up 
from the floor in there,” and he motioned to- 
ward the bed room as he produced a druggist’s 
small white box labeled with name of drug and 
directions for taking. 

“Plow are we to prevent the press from get- 
ting the story?” Jansen asked, and Barbara, 
weeping: “Oh, that would be so dreadful! 
How can we prevent it?” 

Philip answered: “No doubt reporters will 
come here. I think that you, Jansen, would 
better stay, and see them. Tell a plain straight 
story. Don’t let them see the servants; but, 
as for that. I’ll keep an eye on them. They 
are true and faithful, but, they might, by ques- 
tions, be led to say things that are neither 
pleasant nor for the public.” 

“Now there’s one thing more,” and Jansen, 
finding himself standing a bit apart with Philip 
and Graeme, crowded them into the hall. 
“What was meant by that part of the letter 
that spoke of a double funeral, and all the 
rest?” 

“Don’t ask, Jan., don’t ask. It means noth- 
ing now.” 

“But, I do ask, and, I insist.” 

“There’s no use of you knowing. I posi- 
tively will not tell you.” 


324 


PAYING THE PIPER 


‘‘Just as positively, I will know. Tell me 
Graeme.’^ 

“Where’s the use, Phil? The poor girl was 
crazed by the utter ruin that was staring her 
in the face. Always remember that, Seldon, 
she was not sane:” and briefly as possible, he 
told the story of the cyanide, while Philip 
leaned against the wall in silence. When it was 
finished, Jansen laid his hand on Philip’s 
shoulder : 

“By all that’s good and holy. Van, you’re 
as white as they make ’em. You deserved bet- 
ter.” 


CHAPTEE XXXIV 


The ominous black wagon had been driven 
away from before the house of Philip Van- 
doren. The doors were closed for the night, 
or rather the very early morning. The scared 
servants had at last separated, though Onoto 
insisted that Katsu should stay in the nursery, 
so near the dead woman ^s rooms, with her and 
the little girl. 

‘‘To think, the nurse whispered, “all 
through the twilight I sat here with Annetje, 
looking out at the stars coming one by one, and 
Madam lying dead, just through the door!’^ 

“And to think,’’ Katsu added, “how I went 
and rang the bell, rapped on the door, then 
tried to open it, and Madam lying dead just 
inside. But, Miss Katherine said she was not 
in the least frightful — they thought she was 
asleep. Oh me!” 

Of the company that had gathered in the 
evening expecting a pleasant time, all had gone 
away, excepting Mrs. Seldon, who, wild with 
grief and shame, would not leave the house, 
Jansen, Mrs. Vandoren and Alex Graeme. 

These sat in Philip’s library from where 
they had heard the soft movements, and the 
low’-voiced conversation in Genevieve’s room, 
325 


326 


PAYING THE PIPER 


1 


of those who had prepared her for the grave. 

Now, all was still, Mrs. Vandoren held! 
Philip’s hand. The lights were shaded and 
dim, and there was but little conversation. 
Even from where they were, the perfume of 
the tube roses was strong. Kara had gath- 
ered them in a heap from the table, and was 
carrying them away, when Flora saw them, 
and, taking them to Genevieve’s room, strewed 
the cou6h on which the body lay. 

Kara, standing by, told Flora of his tele- 
phone conversation with the florist. She shiv- 
ered. It was all planned then. It was a de- 
liberate going out of life. 

‘‘Kara,” she said, “she was a good mis- 
tress? She was always kind to you?” 

“Oh, yes. Madam was very kind, but very 
sad, always when alone, very sad.” 

Very sad. Flora could well believe it. What 
a horrible life to live! And, who was this 
secret lover? Who was this rival of Philip’s? 
Mentally she ran over the names of the men 
whom she knew as friends, acquaintances, cal- 
lers at the Seldons’. She could decide on no 
one as a probability. She and Leigh talked it 
ovier on their way home. He, too, was at a loss. 
He knew of no one man that Genevieve had 
seemed to favor more than another. She had 
always seemed to be so openly, so honestly, 
and so happily in love with Philip. 

The little company in Philip’s library also 
had this in mind. The declaration that there 
had been, all these years, this highly favored 
lover, had come like a flash of light, explaining 


327 


PAYING THE PIPER 

their very apparent strained relations; but, it 
had left bewilderment as its aftermath. Who 
could the man be? It seemed, since Philip had 
asked no questions, that the secret was dead, 
with the pale still woman across the hall. 

Mrs. Vandoren sighed, saying to herself that 
it was just as well, Genevieve’s father or 
brother might make matters worse if they 
knew. She was startled from the thought by 
a sound in the room where Genevieve lay, a 
sound they all heard, as of a heavy body fall- 
ing on the floor, followed by loud weeping and 
moaning, a man’s voice, seemingly a man wild 
with emotion. 

All sprang up, looking at each other wonder- 
ingly. What more of the strange and horrible 
was coming to this house to-night? Philip led 
the way. The door of the beautiful rooms 
stood open. The rose-colored light was dim, 
but there was enough to enable them to see the 
figure of a man kneeling by the couch, his arms 
thrown over the body, his head resting on the 
pillow beside the face. He was weeping, moan- 
ing, and uttering words of endearment. 

Alex pressed the electric button, and the 
flood of light startled the man. He sprang to 
his feet, and faced the five astonished persons 
who advanced into the room. 

“Dirck Johnson!” was exclaimed by several. 

“Yes, of course; who should it be? Haven’t 
I a right to see my cousin, my Gen?” 

“Yes, surely you have a right to see her,” 
Philip replied, “but who let you in?” 


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PAYING THE PIPER 


“I let myself in — at the street door; here’s 
my key. Don ’t you carry your own key ? ’ ’ 

‘^Yes; I carry my own key, to my own 
house. How long have you had that key?” 

‘^Ever since you came here to live. Gen 
gave it to me.” 

Mystery, and more mystery. Every one 
knew that Genevieve had always treated her 
foolish cousin with a great deal of fondness, 
while Philip had behaved towards him, as he 
might have to a not very bright child. He 
thought him more of an imbecile than he really 
was. 

Mrs. Seldon had always secretly resented 
this, but she could not very well complain 
openly. Now she said, 

^‘It’s very sad, Dirck, about our dear Gen- 
evieve, that she should make such a mistake 
with her rest powders; but you must go home 
now; ” 

‘^No, I’ll not go home. I’m going to stay 
here by her. It was no mistake about her rest 
powders. She said she’d do it, if I didn’t let 
her go to the woman down on Tenth Street. I 
ought to have let ’er go, but, where was the 
use when she was married? A woman who 
has a good home and a husband ought to have 
children. Why couldn’t Phil take care of an- 
other as well as Annetje?” 

Philip stared at Dirck. Was he dreaming? 
This dolt, this half-wit? Was this the secret 
lover of his dead wife? It seemed that all the 
company had been stricken dumb. Only sight 
and hearing remained. Philip spoke, and his 


329 


PAYING THE PIPER 

words were barely above a whisper. This was 
a horribly coarse matter to discuss in the pres- 
ence of his mother. It might disturb even the 
still white figure on the couch. 

‘‘When did you take Genevieve to the 
woman on Tenth Streets’ 

Dirck grinned, glanced at Mrs. Seldon and 
winked as he said: “Oh, long ago; — three 
times,’’ and he held up three fat fingers. “You 
never found it out, did you. Aunt Elizabeth!” 

Mrs. Seldon made an effort to speak, but no 
sound came from her lips. She only clasped 
her hands and gazed at Dirck as if fascinated 
by his coarseness and the story he was telling. 
Dirck continued: 

“I wouldn’t let her go when she was to be 
married so soon, and I told the woman to fool 
her if she went without me. We thought Phil 
wouldn’t know any better than to think it was 
all right; but, Gen wrote me he knew all about 
such things. I always knew you was mighty 
smart. Cousin Phil,” and he winked and 
laughed. 

“Oh, this is horrible!” and Philip took^hls 
mother’s arm and together they left the room. 
As they reached the hall they heard Jansen 
and Alex urging Dirck to leave the room. 
Philip turned back to say: 

“Let him stay. What does it matter! He 
possessed her in life — let him stay.” 

The two men were leaving the room, but 
paused to speak to Mrs. Seldon, who had sunk 
into a chair near the door. “Come, mother,” 
Jansen said; “come away; this is a dreadful 


330 


PAYING THE PIPER 


business all the way through. There’s no good 
in you staying here. Better go to bed.” 

She rose from the chair, and leaned heavily 
on him. 

^‘Oh, Jansen! to think that your sister should 
carry on such a shameless intrigue with that 
beast, and such a lover as Philip waiting for 
her! And to know, too, that the intimacy was 
renewed after all the years of separation. 
Oh, I am crushed. No wonder she had no re- 
source but to hide her shame in the grave.” 

Jansen could otfer no words of comfort. He 
supported her in his arms to a guest room on 
the next floor. As they were passing up the 
stairs, they heard Annetje fretting in her sleep. 
Mrs. Seldon stopped, clenched one hand over 
the banister while her round face grew white 
with passion as she muttered: ‘‘I could 
strangle the brat ! Oh, the unspeakable shame 
of it! I wonder that Phil didn’t kill her and 
all of us. Of course he’ll not provide for her 
— why should he? Oh, will I ever be able to 
hold up my head again!” 

She stumbled on, Jansen supporting and 
guiding her into the room, and, from force of 
long habit, she undressed and went to bed in 
approved order. Worn out, too, with a long 
day and very unusual emotion, she soon slept. 

Mrs. Vandoren, wrapped in a warm flannel 
of her own that Graeme had brought her after 
taking Katherine home, lay on a couch in 
Philip’s room. She insisted she would not 
leave him. He held her hands and looked smil- 
ingly into her eyes. 


PAYING THE PIPEE 331 

Mother, this is nothing to what it was when 
I first found out how I had been cheated.’’ 

‘‘Did you know it long before the birth of 
Annetje!” 

“Yes, almost immediately on our arrival in 
San Francisco. Graeme was consulted, in re- 
gard to disposing of the matter, secretly, you 
know, but, in a case of this kind, the wife of 
his friend, and all that, he came to me with in- 
quiries. He had been on a trip to Honolulu, 
and didn’t know how long I had been in New 
York before our marriage. He supposed that 
we had loved not wisely, but too well, and so 
thinking, he more than hinted that the matter 
was my own and Genevieve’s personal busi- 
ness, and so inadvertently he disclosed the true 
state of affairs. I at once sent Genevieve away 
into the country, until after the birth of the 
child, and, well, Graeme stood by me. It was a 
good deal of a shock,” and he stopped 
abruptly. 

His mother pressed his hand in both her 
own. “It must have been. I wonder that you 
came through it without doing something 
dreadful.” 

“I had flitting visions of many things, but, 
through it all, I had a dumb sort of conscious- 
ness that the woman was not worth it; I also 
had Graeme with me, and you and the rest 
here on Eiverside.” 

There was silence for a minute. 

“She never hinted at the identity of her 
lover ? ’ ’ 

“Never. I think she^d have told, me, if I had 


332 


PAYING THE PIPER 


asked her. She even accused me of lack of re- 
gard for her, and interest in her because I 
never asked the name of the man. ’ ^ 

‘‘A divorce would have been an almost un- 
bearable scandal.’’ 

‘‘Yes, I know. I dreaded it, but, what could 
any self-respecting man do ? And to know that 
it was that, unspeakably ugly and stupid Dirck 
Johnson! Once, when I told Genevieve that 
one comfort of a divorce would be that she 
could marry Annexe’s father, she declared 
with tears, and a great sobbing and walking 
up and down, that she could not. I supposed 
from that, that the intrigue was with a man 
already married.” 

“It’s a wonder you didn’t guess from the 
child’s resemblance to Dirck.” 

“I might have done so, if the possibility of 
it had ever crossed my mind, but I never 
dreamed of it. I tell you a thing like this, is 
getting pretty close to earth ; to the old primal 
instinct. I’m glad I shall no longer need to 
live in the house with the brat. She’s the 
blameless one of the bunch, but she’s such a 
hideous little animal, all that’s human about 
her makes her the more unbearable.” 

“I’m glad to know she’s not a Vandoren; 
and that getting out of your trouble relieves 
you of a burden, and there’s surely no sting 
of grief in it now,” and she smiled sleepily. 

There’s where the morning light found them, 
the mother on her couch, the son in a reclining 
chair, hand clasped in hand, doubly united now 


PAYING THE PIPER 333 

that this ugly secret no longer lay between 
them. 

Very early, Jansen and Alex were stirring. 
Together they went into the room of the dead, 
and there, prone on the floor found Dirck 
bpathing heavily, an empty wine bottle beside 
him. His boots were oft. Sometime within 
the hours while he was alone, he had stolen to 
the dining room, and now he lay in a drunken 
stupor. 

The air of the room was beyond description 
with the odors of the drunken man and the tube 
roses. Jansen roused him, piloted him to the 
bath room and showered his head. He was too 
stupid to realize at once what had happened. 
As they came into the hall Philip met them. 

‘‘Come down to the dining room and have 
some coffee.’’ 

“Not with this,” Jansen said. 

“Why not? Why draw the line now? and 
against him?” 

Jansen bit his lip, and his face turned scar- 
let. “Sure enough,” he muttered. 

Philip turned to Dirck: “I’ll trouble you 
for that key.” 

“Genevieve gave it to me. It’s mine.” 

“Hand me that key at once,” and he did. 

As they were about to leave the house, Jan- 
sen drew Philip aside. 

“Of course, you’ll want to settle it with 
Dirck?” 

“Settle it? I don’t believe I understand 
you. What is there for me to settle?” 

“Well, I supposed, you know the regulation 


334 


PAYING THE PIPEE 


thing is for a man to stand ready to defend the 
honor of his family, and all the rest of it. It’s 
clearly a case for the exercise of the unwritten 

law; seems to me ” 

Jansen stopped, astonished to see Philip 
smiling as if he had propounded a pleasantry. 

‘^And it is equally plain to me, Jansen, that 
you hardly appreciate my position nor your 
own, nor your father’s. The honor of my fam- 
ily has not been touched. It’s the honor of 
your own family that’s in need of repair; but, 
I want to tell you this; after what I’ve borne 
in silence for so long, now that I’m quit of the 
burden without exposure. I’ll not have my 
name dragged into the filth. The honor of 
your own family was black as tar years ago 
as far as I was interested in it. I was tricked, 
but I kept my mouth shut. If anything needs 
settling now it’s up to you. But mind, no men- 
tion of my name. It’s not my family honor 
that ’s in need of white-wash. ’ ’ 

‘‘By God, that’s so,” and seizing Dirck by 
the arm he half dragged him out of the house, 
through the street to a Broadway car, and 
landed him, stupid and sulky into their own 
home on Madison Avenue. 


CHAPTER XXXV 

“So it seems Mrs. Vandoren^s likely to have 
another haunted house on her hands/’ Mrs. 
Bushnell said as she was paying a parting call 
to Miss Preston. 

“But they say it was all a mistake; that 
Genevieve took too much of the narcotic, what- 
ever it was, because the regulation dose failed 
to act.” 

“That’s just what was said last year about 
that little freak in her apartment house till 
the police was interviewed, and other people 
who knew the inside history of the case. Of 
course the police’ll have nothing to do with 
this ; but, I don ’t believe it was accident. ’ ’ 

“Well, I’ve heard the house has been sold, 
furnishings and all excepting what Philip gave 
to Mrs. Seldon. He was very liberal with 
her.” 

“Was he? I hadn’t heard.” 

“Oh yes, he gave her all the furniture in 
Genevieve’s rooms, as well as her jewels and 
clothing. You know she had a very liberal al- 
lowance and she had some handsome and costly 
jewels.” 

“Does Mrs. Vandoren take the child?” 

“No, Mrs. Seldon wants her, and what’s 

335 


336 


PAYING THE PIPER 


queer, she’s going to adopt her, and call her 
Seldon instead of Vandoren. I suppose she’ll 
be well provided for, and she’ll need plenty, 
they say she’s not quite bright.” 

‘‘Then that accounts for the change of name. 
The Vandorens don’t care for their own blood 
if they’re not up to their standard of brains. 
I don’t believe I ever saw such another set of 
self-assertive people, in just such a way. They 
never pretend to stop and explain to one what 
their superiority is based on, and still, by their 
manner, even of walking the street they say: 
‘There’s nobody quite so good as I am.’ ” 

“Yes, I know, and I just long to see who 
that snippy Katherine will marry.” 

“So do I. Flora did well enough. Latham 
comes of a good family, and he’s smart in busi- 
ness; but, I’ve heard it whispered now and 
again that Mrs. Vandoren was not quite 
pleased with the Seldon connection.” 

“I don’t see why. The Seldons, on the 
mother’s side, are a good old family, and, if 
they ever get what they claim from the Trinity 
Corporation they’ll be very wealthy.” 

“That’s just the point, they say, that has 
been hardest for Mrs. Vandoren to excu*se. 
She’s been heard to say she cared very little 
for the wealth, or talent or fame of ancestors ; 
that present day honesty and decency are more 
in demand, and are much more valuable as- 
sets.” 

“Yes, it’s been talked about amongst the 
boys and girls lately, that Max, that youngest 
Vandoren, made a great harangue the other 


337 


PAYING THE PIPER 

day on the campus of Columbia. It happened 
that two of the boys had a quarrel and one of 
them, in some way or other had boasted of his 
titled ancestors. Then Max took it up, told 
what his grandfather Wallberg had said to his 
children when they discovered accidentally that, 
on the other side, their ancestors and present 
day relations, were very aristocratic. It seems 
the young Wallbergs had berated their father 
for not telling them when he replied that if 
American men kept themselves out of jail and 
their families out of the poor house, they were 
good enough noblemen for him.’’ 

‘‘Oh, yes, Max is like the rest, but I guess 
this family pride mostly comes from the Wall- 
bergs, though they’re not rich at all. Well, 
it’ll keep them hustling, I guess to find a match 
for Katherine. I tell you she’s a high-step- 
per.” 

It was not very long before these two knew, 
as well as others in the circle of Mrs. Van- 
doren’s acquaintances, who it was that 5^th- 
erine was expected to marry. 

The partial dismantling and sale of the 
house that Philip had occupied for so short a 
time required but a week or two, and Philip 
had gone home to his mother’s directly after 
Genevieve’s funeral. He was going to Europe 
with Alex. This had been decided upon, both 
as a matter of business, and as a relief the 
change would give him. Because of Ethel’s 
state, lingering on, motionless, speechless. 
Jack’s going was quite out of the question. 
The most eminent specialists had been con- 


338 


PAYING THE PIPER 


suited. The verdict was always the same: 
Hopeless of recovery, — the end might come at 
any hour, — and it might be delayed for years. 

‘Hf the poor thing can think,’’ Aunt Demp- 
sey said, ^^she must suffer more torment than 
the severest pain could give her. She has 
driven her husband and servants like so^many 
slaves with her stormy temper, and her abusive 
tongue, and now she can’t even lift a finger, 
nor utter a sound.” 

And so it was. The miserable paralytic 
could hear, could move her eyelids, and turn 
her eyes, that was all. But, mercifully, one 
soft mild day in April the end came, calmly, 
peacefully. The setting sun threw a rosy light 
into the room. Jack had come home a trifle 
earlier than usual, and was sitting by the bed 
holding Ethel’s wax-like hand. The two little 
girls, now going to day school from home, were 
there. Suddenly a tremor passed over the 
body ; the eyes opened widely, then half closed, 
there was a faint gasp, and all was over. The 
house went on as usual. Sally Ludlow, with 
Mrs. Finley as advisor, ordered the place. 
The children remained with their father, and a 
pleasant, home-like atmosphere grew to per- 
vade the heretofore neglected house and 
family. 


CHAPTER XXXVI 


It was a rainy morning in February when 
Philip and Alex sailed. The house was astir 
early, and when Katherine came into the liv- 
ing room, Dr. Graeme stood backing the fire, 
looking very serious. Mrs. Vandoren stood 
near him, and she looked as near to weeping as 
any one ever saw her on ordinary occasions. 
She had been speaking, and Alex answered her, 
assenting to what she had said. Then, seeing 
Katherine, he smiled, and held out both hands. 
Quite simply she placed her own in them and 
they stood thus without a word. It was but an 
every day happening, so free and brotherly 
had been his intercourse with the family. Mrs. 
Vandoren kept on with what she had been say- 
ing: 

feel that it is very fortunate for Philip, 
and a great comfort for us all that he can be 
with you. Really, the great shock after all 
these years of unhappiness and suppression; — 
IVe been afraid, continually that he would 
collapse with some disease of nerves or brain. 
I know that you, knowing all about it, can care 
for him intelligently.’’ 

^‘Yes, and you may rest assured that I will. 
I never had either brother or sister, but, I 
339 


340 


PAYING THE PIPER 


know that neither one could be dearer to me 
than Phil has been for years. And now, Mrs. 
Vandoren,’^ and he looked steadily into Kath- 
erine’s uplifted eyes, ^^When I bring Phil 
home, good as new, will you let me have Kath- 
erine to go out to California with me?” 

The girl started, and a glad light leaped into 
her eyes, as she exclaimed, ‘‘Oh, Alex! Dr. 
Graeme ! ’ ’ 

He laughed. “Is it so sudden?” and he held 
her hands firmly. 

“Will you go? May she go?” turning to 
Mrs. Vandoren. 

“My dear boy ” 

“Oh, please say yes, Mother, please,” Kath- 
erine interrupted. 

“Katherine,” her mother said seriously, 
“do you really understand what this means?” 

“I — I — guess so, going to California,” and 
she looked from her mother’s to Alex’s face. 

“It means, little girl, that you go as my 
wife.” 

She caught her lip between her teeth, and, 
with a rosy tinge rising over cheek and brow 
her face sank upon their clasped hands as she 
whispered: “Yes, Motherkins, I want to go.” 

Philip came into the room, and one hasty 
glance gave him the key to the situation. Dr. 
Graeme spoke: “You’ll not go back on me 
now, Phil?” 

“Go back on you! By the Lord Harry, I 
wish I had seven sisters to give you.” 

Alex laughed happily; “No, thank you, this 


PAYING THE PIPEE 341 

one pink of girlhood is sufficient. I don’t ex- 
pect to live in Utah.” 

Philip took Katherine by the shoulders, and 
turned her to face him, drawing her hands 
away from Alex’s close clasp: ‘‘Now listen to 
me, Kat, you lucky little beggar. Don’t you 
get up any side shows, to see if Alex’s really 
in earnest. Don ’t you go flirting with the- boys 
while we’re away; but sit down and darn all 
the holes in your stockings ; see to it that your 
petticoats have no frazzles, and have ready a 
decent little white gown to be married in, and 
you shall have my blessing.” 

“Oh, Philip, you’re so silly!” 

‘ ‘ I know I am, Kate, darling little girl, ’ ’ and 
he clasped her in his arms. “I think this 
minute I’m the happiest old bear on Manhat- 
tan Island; and you shall have the very love- 
liest gown and veil I can find in Paris.” 

Max came in. Looking at the group, his 
sixth sense discovered to him that something 
out of the common had happened: “Well^ 
what’s the row?” 

“Eow enough,” Philip answered. “Kate’s 
fooled Alex into the belief that he wants to 
marry her, and I guess he’s going to do it as 
soon as we come home.” 

Max, round-eyed and alert, exclaimed: “By 
golly! Little Dutch Kate! Alex, you’re a 
brick!” and seizing Katherine in his arms, he 
waltzed or rather galloped away, up the room 
and down the hall, while he sang, or rather 
shouted ; 


342 PAYING THE PIPER 

‘‘Yoho mein leedle Gaty, mein Gaty, mein 
Gaty, mein Gaty, 

Yoho mein leedle Gaty, mein klein Dentsch 
Kate/’ 

Dr. Graeme rescued her, saved her from a 
second whirl, and Max threw his arms about 
his mother: ‘‘Won’t it be fine, Motherkins, 
about next winter for you and me to go to San 
Francisco for a visit? Now let’s go to break- 
fast. No time to lose, only an hour and forty- 
five minutes left to catch the steamer.” 

The breakfast was but just over when 
August and Louise came in, dripping, laugh- 
ing, the girl’s hair blown all about her face in 
waves and rings, her eyes dancing, cheeks 
glowing. To the exclamations and wonder ings 
August said: “I wanted this scare-crow to 
telephone good wishes and good byes, but she 
insisted she’d come if she swam.” 

Philip took her hand: “That’s good, Louise. 
You’re not a fair weather friend. I’m so glad 
you came.” 

“So am I. I think we ought always to be 
good to folks in bad weather. When the sun 
shines nobody needs cheering.” 

Aunt Dempsey, standing near, laid her soft 
old hand over Philip’s as he held the girl’s: 
“That’s good philosophy, dear. I’m glad to 
hear you say it; and Philip, you musn’t stay 
away long. Your Aunt Dempsey’s getting old. 
Come back soon.” 

“Yes, Auntie, you may be sure I will; and 
now, listen, Louise, ’ ’ he still held her hand, and 
Aunt Dempsey’s still lay over them both: 


PAYING THE PIPER 343 

‘‘After we’re gone Katherine will tell you 
pmething. She may need cheering up a bit, 
if she doesn’t hear from Alex every half hour. 
Her happiness is so new,” 

“Oh, truly?” Louise interrupted: “I’m so 
glad; — but I’m sorry, too — she’ll go away;” 
and the red brown eyes clouded. 

“Yes, she’ll go away; — all the girls do. You 
will, too, some day.” 

She smiled faintly, looking up at him, and a 
wave of soft color came slowly over her throat, 
but, sank back again: 

“I don’t know; I can’t see now how I ever 
can. ’ ’ 

“You’ll not go far, let us hope, dear,” Aunt 
Dempsey said, and the three hands fell linger- 
ingly apart. 

When they were gone and the house had set- 
tled into an unusual quiet, Mrs. Vandoren said 
to Aunt Dempsey: 

“I wish Philip had something as pleasant 
to look forward to as Alex and Katherine 
have. ’ ’ 

Aunt Dempsey swayed backward and for- 
ward in her low rocker several times before 
she said, very gently: “I am sure there are 
bright days for Philip. Of course not at once 
—we must observe the proprieties, but, all the 
signs, I am sure, read of a happy marriage for 
him, with Louise Rudolph.” 

Mrs. Vandoren exclaimed: “Aunt Demp- 
sey! Louise?” 

“Yes, Louise; and a most suitable match for 
both. If the- great grandson of Dutch Kate 


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PAYING THE PIPER 


Keifer should marry the great-grand-daughter 
of Jacqueline Landon, it would be the union of 
two good names ; and who knows how much of 
the thwarted love of that time may be trailing 
down all these years. Yes, it will be a fine 
match, and their hearts have spoken, but very 
properly, their heads have not yet understood. 

At this moment Katherine and Louise came 
into the room. 

Mrs. Vandoren looked at the beautiful girl, 
so gentle, so kindly, so womanly, and she 
hoped Aunt Dempsey’s prophecy would come 
true. 


THE END. 







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